Losing Your Memory
by criminal-princess
Summary: The story of Maysilee Donner and the 2nd Quarter Quell. How she had a schoolgirl crush on Haymitch Abernathy, but learned to cast her feelings for him away. Until they were both reaped in the Quarter Quell, and Maysilee's feelings for Haymitch rekindled.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary: **The story of Maysilee Donner and the 2nd Quarter Quell. How she had a schoolgirl crush on Haymitch Abernathy, but learned to cast her feelings for him away. Until they were both reaped in the Quarter Quell, and the Merchant Girl's feelings for the Boy from the Seam rekindled.

* * *

I briefly smile at him from across the classroom. It's just a crush, just a silly school girl crush, I tell myself. I know my parents would kill me if they found out I so much as looked twice at a boy from the Seam.

But there's something about that cocky grin, that slick black hair, and those piercing grey eyes that lure me in, somehow.

My heart stupidly stops for a second or two, as he stares back at me, and the corner of his mouth raises a little.

—

I roll my eyes at the memory. I was just fifteen then, when I had the tiniest of crushes on Haymitch Abernathy. I'm now seventeen.

I never found any of the boys from town attractive, so I guess I just resorted to a poor, Seam boy. Since then, though, I've courted - as my mother would say - plenty of merchant boys, and gotten to know the men I could potentially grow up to marry.

I've moved on. To more suitable men. I've realized how stupid and naive I was, foolishly thinking that I could ever have some kind of future with Haymitch Abernathy.

But I know that some part of me will never forget the boy from the Seam. Not completely.


	2. Chapter 1: The Reaping

**Call all your friends**

**Tell them I'm never coming back**

* * *

I rouse early on reaping day, just like every year. I can never sleep very well the night before the reaping. I usually stay up till the early hours of the morning, wondering and worrying about what is to come.

Meanwhile, my twin sister Madeleine sleeps soundly in the bed opposite mine. I don't know how she does it.

I take a quick shower and dress in my brand new reaping clothes. A lace light pink dress that falls to my knees, paired with white ballet flats. I look in the mirror and sigh, hating the fact that I'm wearing such a pretty outfit on such a horrible day.

Madeleine is just waking up as I'm brushing the tangles out of my damp hair.

"Hey," I whisper, glancing back to see her rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

She mumbles something unintelligible and yawns loudly. My sister is most definitely not a morning person.

I have to laugh a little, though. My twin sister and I, we're really close. Although we're not identical, we might as well be, since up to the age of twelve our mother dressed us in identical clothes, but in different colours. We share one bedroom, even though our house is huge – our parents are jewellers, see – and there's plenty of room for us to have individual bedrooms. But we don't like being seperated.

"Only one more reaping left after today," I tell her as I pat my hair dry with a towel.

"That's one reaping too many," she groans, pulling herself out of the bed. She looks back at the messy covers, as if regretting her decision to wake up to this awful today. I know I am.

"It'll be okay," I say, stepping towards her. I'm startled to see she has tears in her eyes. My sister never cries.

"I'm just really scared, Maysilee," she says softly, avoiding my gaze. "There's more chance of us being reaped. Four tributes going in..." She shudders.

"Neither of us will be picked," I promise her firmly. "It'll...it'll be one of the Seam kids or something." I say this to reassure her, but I instantly feel disgusted at what I've just said.

"Oh, and that's supposed to make me feel better?" she says sarcastically. She opens up her wardrobe doors and changes into a dress identical to mine, except it's a buttery yellow colour.

"You look beautiful," I say.

"Correction." She smiles. "_We_ look beautiful."

I giggle as my sister takes her hand in mine, and we head down to breakfast.

My mother and father are up and walking briskly around the kitchen, preparing a big, hearty breakfast – like they always do on reaping day – and chatting merrily to one another. They're both incredibly nervous, though. I can tell because both my parents talk and talk for hours on end when they're apprehensive. A trait that Madeleine inherited from them, unfortunately.

"Good morning!" Mother says cheerily.

"Morning, mother," Madeleine and I reply simultaneously. We sit down, where my father has just taken his place at the head of the large breakfast table. He unfolds a newspaper and hides behind it.

"Now, no need to be afraid!" Mother continues, laying two heaping plates of eggs, sausages, French toast, bacon and tomatoes in front of Madeleine and I. "The likelihood of either of you getting reaped is...well, tiny! Right, Kenton?"

"Right," my father mutters.

But I'm not listening to their meaningless words. I'm staring down at my plate filled with food, the finest in District 12. And all I can think about are those skinny, starving Seam kids. And Haymitch...

I snap myself out of my thoughts immediately. For almost three years now, my head has become a strict 'No Haymitch Abernathy' zone. Which basically means no thinking about that boy. Oh, that boy, with his dreamy grey eyes and gorgeous olive skin...

Ugh. I have no self-control.

"Maysilee, are you listening to me?" Mother snaps.

I look up to see my mother glaring at me disapprovingly. It turns out she's not the only one, though. My father is staring at me, too, as is Madeleine.

"Y-Yes, mother," I stutter, feeling like a fool.

"Then what did I just say?" Mother demands.

"Uh..."

"She's just thinking about her boyfriend." Madeleine rolls her eyes.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I hiss.

"Oh, yes, you do," Madeleine says coyly. "That Haymitch-"

I quickly cover her mouth with my hand. I made the mistake of telling Madeleine about my crush on Haymitch when I was fifteen, and she's never let me live it down, even after my constant reminders of how I don't. Like. Him. Anymore.

"Haymitch who?" Father cuts in. "Do you have a boyfriend, Maysilee?"

"No!" I shake my head. "I don't, father, I swear. Madeleine's just being silly."

Madeleine just smirks to herself, sipping from her steaming mug of coffee.

* * *

"What was that all about?" I demand, pulling Madeleine out of the kitchen whilst my parents do the dishes.

"What was what all about?" she says innocently.

"You know." I glower at her.

"Oh, come _on_," she replies. "I know you still like him. As much as you try to ignore it, I _know _you still have a thing for that...boy from the Seam." She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"I don't!" I spit.

Suddenly, I feel stupid for getting all worked up about such a silly, juvenile thing on the day where four kids - two of which could be Madeleine or me - will be sent to their deaths. I know Madeleine joking and poking fun at me about Haymitch is just her way of pushing the pain of today away from her mind. Still, though, it's annoying.

"Whatever you say," she murmurs. She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Come on, we'd better get down to the square."

I nod, and we bid goodbye to our parents. We want to get there early, so that we can see our best friend, Carrie Grace. She's a merchant's daughter, like us, and her parents run the local apothecary. We've known each other forever.

We see Carrie standing in the square, looking around aimlessly. Madeleine and I race up to her and we all embrace for a moment or two, before reluctantly letting go. I never want to let go of them – my sister and my best friend are who I need with me today ,so that I can stay strong.

Carrie's dressed in a white blouse and bright blue skirt, her blonde hair braided down her back. I've always been jealous of Carrie's good looks. She's got lots of admirers falling at her feet. And by lots, I mean half the boys in town.

"Hi." Carrie smiles at us in turn. "Don't be worried about today, okay, guys?"

"I'm not worried," I say, though I'm terrified inside.

"I am," Madeleine mumbles.

Carrie sighs sadly. "It'll be fine, Maddie."

While Carrie hugs my sister once more and whispers words of encouragement in her ear, I look around casually. All around me, I see blonde hair and blue eyes, the typical features of town kids like ourselves. But I also see some Seam kids, too, with their olive skin and black hair. And amongst a group of rowdy-looking Seam boys, jokingly fighting with one another, I see him.

Haymitch. He's dressed in a simple white shirt and brown pants, probably about the nicest clothes he owns. Those plain clothes pale in comparison to the merchant boys, in their expensive silk pants and what not. But he still looks ten times more handsome than they do, I think.

I shouldn't be thinking these things, but I do, for some reason. Years of telling myself I'm not attracted to that boy are all lies, lies and more lies.

"Come on, Maysilee," Carrie says, taking my hand and pulling me towards the seventeen-year old girl area. I grab Madeleine's hand and tug her along, too.

I feel sick, looking up at the stage built in front of the Justice Building. There's a microphone and three empty seats behind it. And then the two glass balls, filled with thousands upon thousands of paper slips.

Seven of those slips have 'Maysilee Donner' written on them.

Slowly, the square fills up. Twelve to eighteen-year olds are sectioned off into groups, according to their age and gender, of course. Other people who are not at risk of being reaped - like my parents, for example - are directed towards the back of the square, watching and waiting.

I say hello to a few friends from school as we wait for the reaping to begin, but the whole time my eyes flicker from the merchant's son or daughter I'm greeting, over to Haymitch. He doesn't even notice me staring at him like some creepy stalker, just laughs along with his friends.

The three empty chairs on the stage fill up. One, with the mayor of District 12, Theodore Undersee. Madeleine has a crush on his son, I remember. On the second chair, sits the mayor's wife, and on the third, District 12's only Victor, Brandon Stock.

He won the 32nd Hunger Games when he was sixteen. He's in his forties. He's got salt and pepper hair, but he's blue-eyed, so I know he was probably a merchant's kid. Now, though, he resides in a grand house in the Victor's Village.

"Welcome!" A female voice booms from the stage. Her voice echoes loudly from the boom-boxes nearby, making nearly every person in the vicinity cover their ears with their hands.

I look up, and feast my eyes upon probably the strangest-looking woman I've ever seen. She has bright purple hair, styled so that it looks like a deformed marshmallow. Her skin is powdery pink, and her lips are tangerine. She wears a knee-length dress, which is covered in hundreds of multicoloured gems.

I furrow my eyebrows, wondering if the Capitol dresses the escorts up to look this bizarre so that we'll actually pay attention to the reaping. I wouldn't put it past them.

"My name is Marianna Goldstine!" she announces in her foreign-sounding accent. "Welcome, to the 50th Hunger Games! But this is no ordinary Hunger Games! This is..."

Trumpets start to blare from the boom-boxes around the square.

"The Second Quarter Quell!" she finishes triumphantly, beaming. Only a few people clap, and I can tell by Marianna's now-pursed lips that this is not the response she was hoping for.

"Now, let us select our tributes!" She moves on quickly. "Ladies first!" She hops over to one of the reaping balls. The crowd is completely silent, and the clip-clop of her ridiculous high-heels are the only sound to be heard.

She fishes around in the glass ball for what seems like forever. Then, she finally pulls out a name. She steps back to the microphone and says in a clear, loud voice:

"Maysilee Donner!"

* * *

**A/N: Well, I hope you liked that! Please leave a review, cause I'm really interested in whether you love or hate this story so far. Whatever you think, just...let me know. ;)**

** Oh, and you can check out Maysilee's, Madeleine's, Carrie's and Haymitch's reaping outfits on my Polyvore account,along with the people I picture them as in my head! Link's on my profile, if you're interested. **


	3. Chapter 2: Anyone But Him

**Cause this is the end**

**Pretend that you want it **

* * *

I swallow back hard, refusing to believe that my name was called out. It must be some kind of mistake! My name was in there seven times! Seven slips out of thousands! No, this can't be happening. I'm dreaming.

But I know that this isn't some kind of horrible nightmare, but it might as well be, because Madeleine and Carrie are sobbing quietly behind me. I pull them both into an embrace and hold them tight.

Then, I grit my teeth, clench my fists together and walk to the stage. I can feel tears threatening to spill over, and I just know I'm going to start crying. That's the one thing I shouldn't do, though, because if I cry I'll be seen as weak, an easy target. Oh, what does it matter? I'm not a contender in these Games, anyway. I know that already.

I'm standing on the stage beside Marianna and she's smiling widely.

"How exciting!" she trills. "Now, onto our second female tribute!"

She trots away from me and calls out, "Astrid Breslin!"

I look up, watching sadly as a thirteen year old girl makes her way to the stage. I don't know her, I think gratefully. That's a good thing, because it'll make it easier for me to consider her my enemy in the arena. Her hair is jet black and her skin is olive-toned, so I know she's from the Seam.

"Excellent!" Marianna says happily, shoving Astrid over to stand beside me. I can hear the girl crying like a wounded animal.

"Now, let's see who our handsome boy tributes are, shall we?" Marianna asks the crowd rhetorically.

She walks over to the second reaping bowl, pulls a name out and practically shouts into the microphone, "Haymitch Abernathy!"

No. Oh, please, please no. Not him. Anyone but him...

I desperately search the crowd. He's walking briskly towards the stage, his face clearly devoid of emotions. He doesn't look scared out of his mind like I am, or distraught like the little girl beside me is. He's emotionless. How does he do it?

He stands on the opposite side of Marianna, but it's still about the closest I've ever been to him.

"Almost there, ladies and gentlemen!" Marianna continues. "Our final tribute is..."

She pulls yet another name out of the bowl and announces, "Trey Dunst!"

Another one of my fellow tributes I know, but not very well. Trey Dunst is from the merchant's side of town, and he lives a few houses down from me. We were in the same History class two years ago, but we never spoke, really.

He marches up to us, and takes his place beside Haymitch. Out of the four of us, he's probably got the most chance of winning. He's tall and rather muscular.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Marianna concludes. "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

As I'm ushered into the Justice Building by a squad of Peacekeepers, I wonder how the odds could possibly be in my favour when I've just been given a death sentence.

* * *

I'm pushed into one of the most beautiful rooms I've ever seen. The couch is patterned with a pretty gold and peach design, the intricate carpet is soft beneath my feet, and a golden mirror is on display above a grand fireplace.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. "You have three minutes," A Peacekeeper says, as my mother, father and Madeleine enter the room.

All three of them immediately step forward and hug me. We stand there for not nearly as long as I'd like, wrapped in each other's arms, not caring that the seconds are ticking by and we've got such a short time to say so much.

"You can do it, Maysilee," Mother tells me, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Make me proud, honey."

I nod as my eyes begin to water all over again, blurring my vision. "I-I promise, mother."

"We love you so much," Father murmurs, and I can tell he's fighting hard to keep his voice steady. "Be strong."

I start sobbing uncontrollably as I turn to my sister, the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. I just know it's the last time I'll ever see her.

"Madeleine," I choke out, embracing her once again.

She clings onto me, wailing. "I d-don't want you t-to go!"

"I don't either," I mumble, pulling away from her, smiling the tiniest of smiles. "I'm coming home." I look at my mother and father. "To all of you. I swear."

"Here." My mother steps over to me and holds out her palm. In her hand, is a golden mockingjay pin.

"It's an old family heirloom," Father explains softly. "Can it be your district token? We...we've brought it with us to every reaping. Just in...just in case..."

"Of course," I murmur quietly. "I-I love you all so much." My mother pins my token onto my dress with shaking hands.

The Peacekeeper is back, informing us that our time is up. Madeleine hugs me again, and she literally has to be pulled off of me. The door shuts, and I'm alone once more.

I collapse onto the couch, bury my head in my hands and start sobbing again. Then, Carrie has her arms around me. I was too busy bawling like a baby to even notice she entered the room.

I look up to find that her eyes are red. She gives me a teary smile, and I know it's killing her to see me go. I let out some kind of horrible, half-choking sound and wrap my arms around my best friend. She pats my back as I cry my heart out.

"You'll be okay," she whispers. "I know you can win, Maysilee. You're brave and beautiful and you're going to get out of the arena."

"I'll try," I say. "I love you, Carrie. Have –have a good life. Take care of Madeleine."

A tear drips down her cheek. "I will. Y-You're my best friend, Maysilee. I love you."

The dreaded Peacekeeper returns, and I cling onto Carrie as he drags her away from me. The door shuts with a bang.

I feel sick, and I wonder if I'm going to throw up, when yet another quartet of Peacekeepers arrive and herd me out of the Justice Building and into a car.

During the short couple of minutes it takes to get to the train station, I wipe my eyes and nose and try to make it look like I wasn't bawling my eyes out just a little while ago. It doesn't work - my eyes are noticeably red.

We arrive at the train station, where Haymitch, Trey, Astrid and I are forced to stand together and pose for pictures whilst the fancy Capitol cameras gobble up our images. We're told to put our arms around each other, and I feel crazy butterflies in my stomach as Haymitch's strong arm wraps around my waist. It's disgusting, though, making us look like some kind of team and then shoving us into an arena to fight to the death.

Soon after that, Marianna arrives and does her job perfectly - escorts us onto the train and plants us into the living room, where we will be meeting our mentor in a little while.

"This place is beautiful," I whisper, taking in the glass chandeliers above my head and the countless trays of fine food and drink around me.

"Tell me about it," Trey adds, equally impressed.

Haymitch, however, doesn't seem to think too much of the place. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, his signature frown plastered on his face. I think how much more appealing he'd look if he didn't scowl all the time, but then he notices my staring and I quickly look away, embarrassed.

The poor little girl, Astrid, is too busy crying to even notice what's going on around her. She sits in the corner of the room, sniffing and wiping her eyes. I feel awful for her, and I wish I could go over and comfort her, but somehow I don't think I should.

I hear the automatic door swoosh open and I whip around. Standing there is our mentor, Brandon Stock.

He examines each of us in turn, and I can't help but feel intimidated. But there's a certain kind of sadness in the way that he looks at us, like he knows very well that we're all going to die and he hates the thought. I wonder what it must be like, mentoring two kids every year and then watching them die. Clearly, what we see on the television – the victors laughing and drinking happily, living the lives of rich socialites – is not exactly accurate.

"Congratulations," he mutters, taking a seat on the black leather sofa. "So what can you...kids do?" He says the word 'kids' with disdain.

"Well," Trey coughs. I admire him for being the first one to start talking. "I can throw a spear or two."

"Really?" Brandon raises his eyebrows in surprise. "How the hell does one get the chance to learn how to yield a spear in 12,boy?"

"Uh." Trey turns beet red. "Me and my friends throw darts at my house and...this one time, we were drunk, and we started throwing spears at the dart board." He grins sheepishly. "I've gotten kind of good at spear-throwing since then."

I take this in, almost happy for Trey that he has something to show the Gamemakers. But a small part of me can't help but resent him, because I have absolutely no skill to show off.

"What about you, Blondie?" Brandon turns to me expectantly.

I clench my teeth in agitation at this stupid nickname. "I don't have any special skills. None whatsoever. Never used a weapon in my life." It's probably silly of me, making myself out as some kind of useless tribute, but I might as well be honest.

"Right," Brandon replies. "Well, you look like a strong girl. I'm sure you'd be able to hold off any attackers in a hand-to-hand combat situation. But obviously you have the opportunity of learning how to handle a weapon or two in Training, so you do that, Blondie."

I nod silently as Brandon directs his attention towards Haymitch.

"And you, boy?" he asks.

Haymitch glares at Brandon, although I know he doesn't mean to come off as hostile. It's just his way of...approaching people.

"I can use a knife, I guess," he mutters.

"As in, you can throw knives?" Brandon presses, knowing he's not going to get much more than a couple of words out of Haymitch.

Haymitch shrugs. "Sure. Throw, stab, slice, dice, anything." He grins, which frightens me a little. I begin to wonder if I've harboured a crush on some kind of madman.

Astrid begins to cry again, her sobs slightly muffled as she clings onto a silken pillow.

Brandon's tone is much softer, more gentle as he addresses this innocent girl. "And you, sweetie?"

"I-I can't d-do much," she whispers hoarsely. She surprises us all by looking Brandon in the eye and saying, "What's the point, anyway? I've got no chance of winning."

Nobody knows what to say to this, because we all know what she's saying is true. The odds of a wispy thirteen year old coming out of a Quell with forty eight competitors are non-existant.

"Well," Brandon sighs heavily after a few moments of silence. "Let's have dinner, then, shall we? After that, we can watch the recap of the reapings."

We wordlessly obey our mentor as he leads us into the dining room, which is equally as fabulous and decorative as the living room. We take our places at an oakwood table, with Marianna and Brandon seated at opposite ends of the table. I can't help but notice that Haymitch chooses to sit next to me. I chew my lip, knowing that I'll have to get over my insane attraction towards him very soon.

The food is what really takes my mind off things, though. Ravishing dishes of the finest food in the world are laid out before me, and I dig in, suddenly aware of how truly ravenous I am.

Haymitch smirks a little as I fold my napkin onto my lap, like I've been taught countless times by my mother.

"You're being sent to your death and you're still concerned about table manners, sweetheart?" he whispers in my ear.

A shudder ripples down my spine. His breath is so cool, and his voice is so...I can't explain it. Irresistible? I can't help blushing a little. I'm suddenly furious that he has this affect over me.

"Piss off," I hiss at him.

He chuckles, and I catch Marianna giving me a death glare, probably because I've sworn at the table. Something Madeleine often got scolded for back home.

A lump forms in my throat as I think about her. Madeleine. My parents. Carrie. All the people I care the most about, and all the people I will never see again. It isn't fair, I think, as I furiously slice a turkey leg in half. It isn't fair that I'm being taken away from my home to go and fight to the death as punishment for something my rebellious ancestors did.

"Maysilee," Brandon says abruptly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "The recap of the reapings is starting."

I realize I'm the only person still sitting at the table, and the others are staring at me like I'm crazy. Most especially Haymitch, who is rolling his eyes and grinning to himself. Flushing furiously, I get out of my seat and follow the others to the living room.

We all sit down on the couch, and once again Haymitch is beside me. He sits casually, with his legs crossed and his arms, I notice, are so close to mine.

"Let's see what our competition is," Brandon says, flicking the TV on with the push of a button.

There is more than twice the amount of tributes this year, which makes it all the more difficult to remember each one of the tributes' faces. But a couple of my opponent's faces are branded into my mind, because they are just so unforgettable.

The Careers are as deadly as always, and this year there are ten of them. Brutal, arrogant, barely-human monsters. And each one as terrifying as the next.

One of the girls from 1 is short with a wicked smile that I can't shake from my brain. A boy from 2 is scarily huge. He must've been about six foot fifty, and he steps forward to volunteer with such confidence and pride that you'd think he's done this one hundred times before. A boy from 4 looks about fourteen, but he's got an evil glint in his eye, startling in one so small and so young.

The rest of the tributes aren't as remarkable, but there are a few awful diamonds in the rough. A boy from 7,tall and monstrous. An eighteen year old girl from 10, who looks like she could snap my neck with one hand.

And then they move onto the District 12 reapings, and there's us. It's bizarre seeing myself on the TV, and even more bizarre when I look as though I'm on the verge of tears. And then Astrid, weeping and barely able to hold herself together. Trey, who looks stunned and scared. But then there's Haymitch, oozing confidence and arrogance, like he's been expecting this and isn't fazed by the fact that he's going to die in a matter of days.

The TV turns off automatically, and the screen goes black.

"Well," Brandon says quietly, turning to us. "Now you've seen what you're up against. What do you think of your...opponents?"

Haymitch snorts. "They look like a pack of idiots."

I have to bite back a laugh.

"Right," Brandon snarls. "You can tell that to those Careers when they've got you pinned to the ground, knife pressed against your neck."

That silences Haymitch, but he doesn't say anything else. Marianna tells us it's bedtime, and we all roll our eyes like a gang of moody teenagers - which is what we are, I guess - because it's only half past nine.

"No complaining, no complaining!" she scolds. "You've all got a big day ahead of you tomorrow! The chariot rides!"

"Ooh, can't wait," Haymitch mutters.

Marianna beams at him, not getting the sarcasm. "That's the spirit, Haymitch!"

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Where are our rooms?"

"Down that hallway," Marianna chirps, pointing to her left. Sure enough, there's a long, narrow hallway with four closed doors.

We're just making our way down there, when Marianna says "And remember – you _must _stay in your own rooms! No members of the opposite gender are allowed to reside in the same compartment." She smiles at us like she's rehearsed this line before.

I feel stupid for blushing furiously. As if the tributes would actually have sex with one another. I can see Haymitch grinning at me from the corner of my eye.

"No worries, Marianna," he says with utmost seriousness. "I'll try my best to control my urges."

"Excellent!" Marianna replies happily.

Meanwhile, Trey and I are stifling back laughter.

"Although with this one around it'll be a challenge," Haymitch continues, gesturing towards me.

Marianna's orange mouth opens in shock, and Haymitch assures her, "Just kidding!"

I roll my eyes, and we head to our compartments. I open the door to a room that says 'District 12, female tribute' and step inside. The place is smaller than my bedroom back home, but it's still rather grand. There's an automatic shower, with hundreds of different settings for shampoo, shower gel, you name it. Silken bed sheets, a mahogany wardrobe, intricately-designed curtains... This place is so luxurious and beautiful that I feel almost upset that I'll only be spending one night here.

I strip off my dress and search through the chest of drawers, which are filled with mountains of clothes. I pull on plain blue pyjamas and crawl into bed, wrapping the soft quilt around me, praying that today was just a horrific nightmare.

* * *

**A/N: I was kind of debating putting in that "Although with this one around it'll be a challenge" line, but I eventually gave in to temptation and put it in, hehe. ;) Leave a review telling me what you thought of this chapter!**


	4. Chapter 3: The Chariots

**Don't react**

**The damage is done**

**The police are coming too slow now**

* * *

Unfortunately, my prayers are not answered, because the next day, I find myself still stuck in this God-awful train. I check the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty.

I hop out of bed and ignore the heaps of clothes in the drawers, just pull on the dress I was wearing yesterday. I also pin my mockingjay pin to my chest. I think about taking a shower, but I decide not to, since I'll be in the hands of my dreaded 'prep team' soon enough.

I head to the dining room, surprised to find that I'm the last one up. Marianna, Brandon, Astrid and Haymitch are all crowded round the table, stuffing themselves with food.

"Morning," Brandon says gruffly.

"Good morning, Maysilee, dear!" Marianna smiles. "Come, sit, sit!"

My stomach almost plummets to the ground because I notice that the only available seat is next to Haymitch. There's nothing for me to do about this arrangement, so I merely do as I'm told and take my place next to him.

"Sleep well, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks me quietly.

I shrug, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. "You certainly didn't."

Haymitch's smirk falters, and his grey eyes flash dangerously. "That's none of your business," he snaps.

"Whatever," I mutter, placing a slice of toast onto my plate and buttering it, since I doubt my stomach can handle much more of this rich Capitol food.

"Now," Brandon begins. "I think I should probably explain the subject of sponsors right about now. Sponsors are key to your survival in the arena. It's unlikely you'll get very far if you don't earn some sort of gift from a sponsor."

"So, how do we get sponsors?" Trey wonders, asking the question that's on everyone's minds.

"You appeal to the audience," Brandon explains. "Such as in the chariot rides today – you smile and wave at the crowd. Get a good score in training. But most especially, you have to do well in your interview. Every tribute has some sort of angle – funny, sexy, witty... Anything. The only trouble is deciding who should play up what."

He looks us all up and down like he did yesterday, as if wondering what sort of angle each of us will be going for. Truthfully, I find the whole thing disgusting. Why am I being all dolled up for the slaughter? And frankly, my attempting to get sponsors will be pointless, because even if I do well, I still won't be able to hold a candle to those Careers.

But I simply smile at Brandon and nod because I know that any complaining on my part will be useless.

"Oh, my God!" Marianna squeals, jumping out of her seat and skipping over to the window. She looks back at us and grins. "Welcome to the Capitol, dears."

I swallow hard and run to the window, Trey and Astrid behind me. I gasp, stunned at the beauty I see before me. The Capitol's tall building spires seem to touch the clouds. Rows of fancy houses, designed by expert architects, line the street.

But this tiny vision of perfection is short-lived, because the train zooms past dozens of trimmed pine trees, and we pull in at the station.

The screaming outside is deafening. So much that we hear the Capitol people before we even see them. They're crowded around the train, cheering and clapping and laughing as they catch sight of us. But all that registers in my mind is how _weird _they are. Cosmetically altered skin, ridiculous clothes, piles of makeup, obviously fake wigs. It's so much to take in that all I can do is gape at them.

I glance back and see Brandon mouthing 'Wave!' at us.

And so we do. I force a smile upon my lips and wave at these strange, foreign people before me. Trey and Astrid copy my actions, the latter a little more timidly.

But then, I remember there's someone missing. I turn around and see Haymitch, still sitting down, sulking and looking disgusted. Most especially at me. His eyes are fixated on mine, and he looks angry. I want to tell him that I hate this. That I hate waving and smiling at these people who will soon be betting on my life. I'm only doing this so that I'll get a sponsor or two, that's all.

But there's no chance for me to say any of this aloud, because then Marianna tugs us all outside, where a couple of Peacekeepers await.

* * *

"Ouch," I mutter, as Blaze – a man with fiery red hair and colourful tattoos – rips hair off my leg, along with one or two layers of skin.

"Almost done, Maysilee!" he assures me. "Just one more..."

I brace myself as another round of intense pain hits me. Then, I look down at my legs and find them completely lacking in hair.

I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that my 'plucking' session is now over. So far, I've been bathed in disgusting liquids, stripped of armpit, leg, pubic and arm hair. I feel like a turkey, ready to be sliced up and eaten.

"Onto your makeup!" A woman I think is called Bree squeaks. She's petite, and her head is completely shaved. She's got weird green eye shadow, complete with black lipstick.

Bree begins to coat my lips in bright red paints, whilst another woman called Accalia – bleach blonde hair, dyed pink skin – curls my hair and sprays heaps of product onto it.

"Oh, I wish _my _hair was naturally blonde!" she sighs sadly.

My prep team begins to chat about the latest scandal in the Capitol. A hideous haircut someone got, who said what about their best friend. It's mindless gossip, so I effortlessly tune them out and pick at my nails while they work on me, pretending like I don't want to throttle them for being obsessed with such petty things when forty eight kids are being forced to fight to the death right under their noses.

However, I find myself listening into their conversation when it turns to Haymitch.

"Have you _seen _the boy from 12?" Accalia giggles. "The one with the dark hair? Oh, he's positively gorgeous!"

"Tell me about it!" Bree chuckles. She meets my eyes. "What do you think of him, darling?"

"He's all right," I mutter, not really wanting to discuss this boy with idiotic Capitol citizens.

"All right?" Accalia squawks in disbelief. "He's sexy!"

I bite my tongue, desperately wanting to confide in them that, as a matter of fact, I _do_ find this boy sexy and gorgeous and beautiful. But the more rational side of me says this is a bad idea.

An hour or two later, my prep team say all at once, "Finished!"

"Your stylist will be here in a moment," Blaze informs me. "So, just wait here like a good little girl, okay?"

I nod through clenched teeth, though I'm angry at the way he addresses me, like I'm just a stupid child.

My prep team embrace me and tell me how beautiful I look, how the Capitol men will literally bow down to me. Accalia kisses me on the cheek, and Bree goes mental at this, fussing that she'll smudge my makeup.

Then, the door slams shut, and I'm almost glad that they're gone. They're just so...overwhelming, these Capitol people. I sigh, knowing that I'll be forced to deal with more of them in the days to come.

I wrap a robe around my naked body, as if to protect it, although I know that my stylist will just demand I take it off, so that he or she can scrutinize every inch of my body. The idea makes me nervous, a stranger seeing me naked.

Just then, the door bursts open, and standing there is a blue man. No, I mean, literally. His skin is dyed electric blue, and a curly black wig sits atop his head. He wears a black shirt, with golden ruffles running down the middle. His pants are leopard print.

"Strip," he says suddenly.

Blinking, I take off my robe, letting it drop to the floor. His eyes narrow, and he walks around me in a circle once or twice, looking me up and down. I feel so incredibly self-conscious and exposed.

I wonder how my district partners are handling the whole 'naked in front of a total stranger' thing. Especially Haymitch. But then I stop, because the thought of Haymitch naked only makes me blush.

"Don't be embarrassed, darling," he reassures me, completely misunderstanding the reason for my flushed cheeks. "I'm your friend." He smiles. "My name is Fabian." He offers me his hand. "It's lovely to meet you."

I smile hesitantly, shaking his hand. "I-I'm Maysilee Donner."

"I have a fantastic outfit for you," he tells me happily. "It's rather skimpy, but I'm pretty sure you have the body for it."

I nod, suddenly nervous at what kind of outfit Fabian's conjured up for me. I remember a couple of years back, when the tributes were stark naked and covered in coal dust. If I'm forced into being naked in front of Haymitch, I'll probably have some kind of breakdown.

"Maysilee?" Fabian says patiently. "Did you hear me?"

"Um, I'm sorry!" I apologize quickly. I'd been so caught up in my own thoughts and worries, I completely forgot Fabian was right there. "C-Could you repeat the question?"

Fabian laughs softly. "I said, would you like to see your costume?"

I nod wordlessly, preparing for the worst.

Fabian picks up a black bag from the counter. He zips it open, and inside lies probably the most promiscuous outfit I've ever laid eyes on.

My costume for the Opening Ceremonies is tiny denim dungarees, like a coal miner would wear. Only the top half is completely bare, except for a lacy black bra, and the dungarees straps. The other half is just small shorts.

"W-Wow," I stammer. "This is really-"

"Beautiful?" Fabian finishes.

More like slutty. Revealing. Disgusting.

"Exactly," I lie smoothly, staring down at my costume. "Absolutely...beautiful."

Fabian's mouth stretches into a grin. A rather scary grin, I might add, due to the countless times he's gone under the plastic surgeon's knife.

"I'm glad you like it!" he says. "Now, let's get you into it, shall we?"

_No! _I think. Please, please don't force me into such a horrible outfit...

But I keep my mouth shut and nod, smiling my head off, like this is the best thing that could possibly happen to me.

"Close your eyes," Fabian murmurs.

I do as he says, and he guides me as I step into the dreaded costume. I slip into a pair of dangerously tall high-heels.

"Open your eyes," he instructs.

I open my eyes, and am disgusted by the creature I see before me.

My face looks beautiful, I'll give my prep team that. My blonde hair is curled and styled to perfection. My makeup is flawless - red lipstick, heavy black eye shadow, eye liner, the works.

But my body... well, I look like a whore. Let's leave it at that. The dungarees barely cover my ass. The bra, I notice, pushes up my breasts, heavily emphasising them. My legs are long and toned. The high heels – black ones, studded with jewels – make me a couple of inches taller.

"You look phenomenal," Fabian compliments me.

"Thank you," I mumble, though I'm not thankful at all, because he's made me look nothing like myself.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he says. He picks my mockingjay pin off of the counter, and sticks it to the front of my dungarees.

"Perfect." He smiles. "Now let's get you to your chariot, m'lady."

* * *

I am whisked down to the ground floor of the Training Center, which is, essentially, a gigantic stable. Dozens and dozens of identical chariots – complete with black horses – are dotted around the Training Center.

I scan the crowd for my fellow District 12 tributes, and I find them soon enough. They're located towards the back of the Training Center. Fabian kisses my hand and wishes me luck, and I march over to my district partners.

Trey and Haymitch's eyes widen as they take me in. Most especially Trey's, but I know that Haymitch is good at disguising his feelings, so I don't think too much of that.

"You look very nice, Maysilee," Trey coughs. His eyes linger on my chest a little longer than I would like.

"I look like a whore," I mutter.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Haymitch grins.

"Isn't it?" I counter.

"Not where you're concerned," he replies, eyeing me up and down.

I blush, and look away from him quickly, turning to Astrid. Thankfully, they have not dressed her in the same outfit as me. It would've been all the more disgusting, if a mere child was sexualised that way. But then I realize that I, too, am a mere child.

Astrid is dressed in diamond-studded dungarees that completely cover her chest, and reach her knees. She also has a coal miner's hat on. Lucky her.

It's only then that I notice Haymitch's costume. He's dressed identically to me, except he's completely shirtless, and he also wears a coal miners hat. I find it hard to avert my eyes from him.

"Take a picture, sweetheart, it'll last longer," he says sarcastically. "And Trey – close your mouth. Seriously, you're drooling."

I glance at Trey who, has been staring at me this whole time.

Trey swears under his breath, and Haymitch mutters something about "horny little bastards." It's then that we're shoved into our chariots, and Marianna appears out of nowhere.

"Trey and Astrid in one chariot," she recites off of a neon pink clipboard. "And Haymitch and Maysilee in the other." She smiles at us, and trots off.

Trey lifts Astrid into their chariot, as the poor thing is so small she can't even get into it. I look at Haymitch, and he's gesturing to the empty, black chariot beside him, which can only be ours.

"Ladies first," he says.

I roll my eyes a little as I climb the two steps into the chariot. Haymitch is up and beside me in no time. I realize it's the first time I've been alone with him.

"So, now it's just us two, right, Blondie?" Haymitch observes.

I wince at the nickname. "Please don't call me Blondie."

"Why?" He smirks, reaching out to touch a curl of my hair, twirling it round with his finger. "It's true."

"Just-" I fume, getting irritated now. "Just stick to calling me 'sweetheart', will you?"

"Why?" He leans a little closer, a smile playing on his lips. "Do you like it when I call you sweetheart, sweetheart?"

I can sense a blush creeping up onto my cheeks, and I feel hot. "I never said that."

Haymitch gives me a look that says he doesn't believe a word of it, when the infamous trumpets begin to blare. The first chariot rolls out onto the streets of the Capitol, containing a duo of District 1 tributes, dressed head-to-toe in jewels. I can hear the roar of the crowd as they catch sight of the very first Quarter Quell tributes, the first pair of children who will surely die for their entertainment.

I feel sick all of a sudden, and I'm sure it shows on my face, because Haymitch whispers, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I mutter.

"You don't seem fine," he says.

I look up at him, expecting to see him infamously smirking. But he's not. He looks genuinely concerned for my well-being.

I blink, embarrassed because he's standing so, so close to me. And his lips are so, so close to mine.

"I told you, I'm fine," I say softly.

He doesn't push the subject further after that.

Finally, it's our time to shine, because we're suddenly being rolled out into the street, right after Astrid and Trey. I fix a wide grin on my face, and wave at the crowd as we swish past. There's even some wolf-whistling, and the women of the Capitol are going crazy for Haymitch, so it seems.

"You've got an admirer or two," I whisper to him as we pull into the City Circle. I glance behind me, noticing the giggling crowd of women pointing and screeching at Haymitch. "Or fifty."

Haymitch makes a face of disgust, and I can tell he hates being considered an object of lust for these fake Capitol women.

Us tributes are now in a strange semi-circle shape around President Snow's mansion. The man himself emerges from his top-floor balcony, and the crowd goes wild.

I glare up at the President, wondering if he knows how much I despise him and everything he stands for.

He welcomes us tributes to the Capitol, congratulating us on our 'success' so far, and recites the Treaty of Treason. He then wishes the whole of Panem a 'Happy Quarter Quell' and steps back, into the depths of his mansion.

And then we're rolled back into the Training Center, where Marianna and Brandon await. Soon after, Astrid and Trey arrive, looking flushed and stunned. It occurs to me that I probably look somewhat that way, too.

"You were all fantastic!" Marianna tells us, when we're all off our chariots and down on level ground.

"Yes," Brandon agrees. "In fact, I think Haymitch gained one or two admirers. The women were going wild for him."

Haymitch glares at our mentor, like he hates him for pointing it out.

"Can you blame them?" I blurt out.

Everybody's attention turns to me, then. Brandon observes me strangely for a moment or two, whilst Marianna smiles a little to herself.

Haymitch's angry look falters a little, and he looks at me in an almost...pleased sort of manner.

Marianna leads us to the elevator, where, at the top floor, our quarters will be located.

_Stupid! Stupid!_ I tell myself. If my crush on Haymitch was unbeknownst to everyone before, it sure as hell isn't now.

The elevator zooms to the very top of the Training Center at lightning speed.

"This is our stop!" Marianna says brightly, as the elevator makes a 'ding!' sound.

We step out into a wide hallway, decorated with beautiful art and sculptures.

"This way." We follow Marianna further down the hallway. She turns a doorknob, and we step into a room that is huge beyond belief. There's a glass dining table, a long leather couch, a plasma screen TV and four doorways off to the right, with each of our names carved into the wood.

"Wow," I breathe.

"I know!" Marianna laughs. "Now, you four should go clean yourselves up a little before dinner."

She struts off, Brandon trailing behind her. And Haymitch, Astrid, Trey and I are just standing there, observing each other in silence.

"Well," I say, the first to speak. "I'm just uh, going to get changed." I want to be the first one to get out of there, because I'm deathly afraid someone will ask me about my little comment about Haymitch.

"Wait," Haymitch stops me, grabbing my wrist. His touch sends an electric current running through my body. "I need to talk to you, sweetheart."

I glower at him, but all he does is give Astrid and Trey a pointed look. The two of them walk off to their respective rooms, leaving Haymitch and I alone.

"What?" I snap.

"What were you talking about back there?" he asks.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I mumble, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Anything to get me out of this awkward, awkward situation.

"Yes you do," he replies firmly. " 'Can you blame them?' Does that ring any bells, sweetheart?"

"It just slipped out, okay?" I spit. "I...I didn't mean..."

"Didn't mean what?" he cuts me off. "That you find me attractive?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Says the boy who couldn't take his eyes off my breasts!" I snap back.

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "I think you're confusing me with Trey."

"Just...leave me alone, Haymitch," I sigh.

And with that, I walk off to my room.

* * *

**A/N: Ooh, drama! ;) Okay, so, let me know what you thought of that chapter! Btw, Maysilee's chariot outfit is now on my Polyvore account, which you can find the link to on my profile. :)**


	5. Chapter 4: I Need You So Much Closer

**I would have died**

**I would have loved you all my life**

* * *

I wake with a start the next morning, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that Marianna is banging loudly on my bedroom door.

"Maysilee!" she shouts. "Get up!"

I groan and literally fall out of bed, onto the cold wooden floor. Needless to say, last night was not a good night. I barely slept; and was kept awake with nightmares about the deaths of my loved ones - my parents, Madeleine, Carrie. I'm pretty sure even Haymitch made an appearance.

I force myself to get up and jump into the shower, letting the warm water ease the stress and the pain of the last two days off of my mind. It works for a few minutes, but then the water shuts off and I am left just as distressed and wounded as before.

My hair dries quickly, with the help of some high-tech Capitol technology, leaving it fall in a shiny, glossy curtain around my face. When I retreat back to my bedroom, I find a strange set of clothes on my bed, which I know can only be my training uniform. It consists of a tight black t-shirt, with '12' printed on the shoulders, and black trousers.

I head down to the dining room, where, yet again, I am last to arrive. Of course, Haymitch, Trey and Astrid are dressed identically to me.

"Saved you a seat, sweetheart," Haymitch says as I sit down beside him.

"Oh, aren't you kind?" I say sarcastically.

Things have been a little tense between us ever since last night, when he confronted me about my implying that I find him attractive. I feel bad, though, about lashing out at him like that. But I was just angry. And scared. Scared, because I don't want to get wrapped up into an even deeper longing for Haymitch, because I know that we'll only end in tragedy.

"Today's your first day of training," Brandon announces, as if this is news to us. "And I want you all to show your strength. Those of you who aren't experienced in the way of weapons, do your best to try out each and every station. It's very imperative that you do so." He smiles a little nastily in Haymitch's direction. "You'd have to be an idiot not to."

A soft growl escapes the back of Haymitch's throat, and I get the sense that these two do not like each other very much.

"Well!" Marianna breaks the tension hanging in the air. "I'd best get you kids down to Training! Follow me!"

* * *

In less than a couple of short minutes, we're standing in a huge room, surrounded by weapons of every kind. Axes, maces, bows, swords. A madman's dream come true. But weapons aren't the only thing on display in this twisted gymnasium of sorts. There's also stations where we can learn how to ignite fires, climb trees, tie knots, and more.

The other tributes stand around talking for a little while, until Atala, a dark-haired woman, calls us to order. She begins to read down through the list of rules, which I'm not really listening to, since I'm a sickeningly obedient person and I probably won't be breaking any of these regulations. The last thing I want to do is draw any unwanted attention towards myself.

As she's talking, my eyes flit around to my fellow tributes. The fact that there are more than double the amount of opponents this year is all the more frightening than usual. My heart sinks as I realize that almost all of them are bigger than me.

I think back to what Brandon said:

_"Well, you look like a strong girl. I'm sure you'd be able to hold off any attackers in a hand-to-hand combat situation."_

But holding off any of these monstrous giants before me seems an almost impossible feat, now that I am witness to their size and their intimidating muscles. If I'm feeling this way, I can only imagine what tiny Astrid – who is trembling in fear beside me – must be thinking.

I notice a couple of the guys – namely the ones from 2 and 10 – looking me up and down, smirking. I glare at them, teeth clenched, knowing that they must be thinking of my costume at the Opening Ceremonies. Ugh. I will never live that down. If, in the unlikely event that I make it home, I know that Madeleine will never let me forget the horrors of that revealing outfit.

But then I'm brought back to reality, because Atala is telling us that we have until lunchtime to train vigorously. She advises us to sample each and every station – even the survival-based ones – and sets us free.

I watch, numb to the bone, as the brutish pack of Careers run to the deadliest looking weapons in the gym. They're like twisted demons, laughing and joking as they slice the heads off dummies with their new-found axes and spears. I can't help flinching as the girl from 1 drives a mace deep into the heart of a dummy.

"Hey," Haymitch whispers, coming up from behind me. "So uh, where do you want to start?"

"You want to...train with me?" I ask in disbelief.

He rolls his eyes, like this is plainly obvious. "Well, seeing as those two are gone off together..." He points towards Astrid and Trey, who are over by the fire-starting station. I distinctly remember that Trey has a little sister back home. Maybe Astrid reminds him of her, I think sadly.

I turn back to Haymitch, and he's looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. I hesitate, taking a moment to think this through.

If I train with Haymitch, it's more likely we'll get closer and get to know each other better. And I don't want to get close to that boy. Well, I do. Believe me, I do. If we weren't being forced into an arena to fight to the death together, that is. I know that us getting closer, becoming friends, even, will only result in heartbreak.

So I do the logical thing.

"Sure, Haymitch," I reply.

* * *

Training with Haymitch isn't as bad as I thought it would be. We try out as much stations as possible, and when either of us run into trouble at a certain weapon or skill, the other immediately rushes to help.

We reach the archery station, where we spend roughly an hour attempting to yield a bow. It takes me about ten short minutes to come to the conclusion that archery is most definitely not for me.

"Shit," I mutter, as I shoot, watching as my arrow misses the bulls-eye by a long shot.

Haymitch, noticing my struggles, comes over to me. "You're putting too much pressure on the bow."

I'm about to protest that it's not his place to tell me what I'm doing wrong, as, like me, he's only just learning how to handle a bow and arrow. But I quickly realize that I'm in no position to refuse his help, because he's hit the bulls-eye four times in a row already.

Damn.

"Here," he says, stepping a little closer to me.

My heartbeat quickens rapidly as he places his hand on the handle of the arrow, right on top of mine. His olive skin tone contrasts greatly with my pale one.

His other hand comes to rest on my waist, sending jitterbugs running through my body.

"Now stand, feet apart," he tells me softly, and I obey his orders.

"And release," he whispers in my ear.

And I do, letting the arrow go flying into the air. I watch as the tip of the arrow buries itself slap-bang in the middle of the bullseye.

I turn my head to thank Haymitch, but I stop myself, noticing how close we are. How our lips are practically touching. All I have to do is reach out and...

Suddenly, the whistle is blown, signalling lunch time.

I sigh to myself, laying my bow on the shelf. I whip around to see Haymitch with a hint of a blush on his cheeks. _Haymitch Abernathy is blushing!_ _Actually blushing!_ Because of...me?

Biting my lip and desperately trying to avoid his eyes, I follow the long line of tributes heading to the dining hall.

* * *

I quickly dump a large portion of pasta onto my plate and take a place at a lone table in the corner, far away from the other tributes. I pick at my pasta with a fork, which I don't really feel like eating, for some reason.

Maybe it's because I've spent the entire morning attempting to yield weapons. That's bound to put a downer on a girl's appetite.

I startle a little as Haymitch sits down beside me, his tray clattering to the table loudly.

"Sorry," he apologizes quickly. His nostrils are fuming and his jaw is tightened.

"What's wrong?" I wonder aloud.

"_They're _what's wrong," he snarls, turning round in his seat and pointing towards a gang of Careers. They're over by the buffet table, pushing and shoving other tributes out of the way.

"What did they do to you?" I ask concernedly.

"Made some comments about my 'slutty' girlfriend," he growled.

My cheeks turn pink. "M-Me?"

"Yes, you," he sighs.

I chew the inside of my cheek - an old habit of mine - and twirl a forkful of pasta around and around. "I'm guessing they...saw what happened, back there?" I look up to check his reaction.

He blinks, swallowing. "Yeah, I guess they did."

"It doesn't matter, though, does it?" I say hoarsely. "I mean it's not like..." I trail off awkwardly.

"Yeah, you're right." Haymitch forces a tight smile. "It doesn't matter."

* * *

**A/N: Yay! Leave a review telling me your thoughts on this chapter! :)**


	6. Chapter 5: Whatever You Say

**You're losing your memory now**

**You're losing your memory now**

* * *

After a lunch full of plenty of awkward silences and dull comments, we trudge back inside the Training Center. The Careers, I notice, head back to their stations of deadly weaponry. They haven't bothered to try out any of the survival stations so far, which I find strange.

"They're idiots," Haymitch notes quietly, clearly seeing what I am. "There's no use being excellent with weapons when you don't have brains."

I nod my head in agreement. "They're very arrogant, aren't they?" I look on as the boy from 2 throws a spear from metres away. He grins cockily at Astrid, who's tightly clutching a spear in her hand. She's ghostly pale.

"Beyond belief," Haymitch mutters. Wrinkling his nose, he turns away from the awful sight. He pats me on the shoulder, which makes me shudder in pleasure. I will never get used to him touching me.

"So, where to next, sweetheart?" he whispers in my ear.

Pursing my lips, I scan the various stations. I land my eyes on the knife-throwing area, where a couple of Careers are hanging around.

"H-How about over there?" I suggest. The idea of being anywhere near those monsters makes me feel ill, but I'll have to face them at some point. Why not now?

Haymitch's teeth are clenched. "You sure you're ready to...be around them?"

"Of course," I reply, sounding a lot braver than I feel.

Before I even know what's happening, he reaches out and takes my hand.

"What are you-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Moral support, sweetheart." He grins a little, but I can see he's embarrassed. "Unless you don't want to..."

"I-I don't," I stammer, but I really do. _Oh, I do._ "It's just...well, I don't want any more teasing from them."

"Oh, okay," Haymitch says quickly, and lets my hand go.

I smile at him a little, before marching over to the knife-throwing station. I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me.

I examine the shelf before me, which is filled with all kinds of knives. Long ones, short ones, ones with jagged edges and scarily pointy tips. I'm sure there's proper names for them, but I'm not aware of them.

I can see one of the girls from 1 looking me up and down from the corner of my eye, but I refuse to be intimidated by her. By any of them.

"Which one?" Haymitch says, just as entranced by the array of knives as I am.

I pick up the first knife I lay eyes on. It's short, with a jet black handle, but the blade is shined to perfection. I can see my own reflection in the thing.

"This one," I murmur.

The instructor, a blonde-haired man with dark eyes, comes over to us.

"Hello, Maysilee." He nods at me as if we've known each other forever. "Haymitch."

Haymitch shakes the instructors hand.

"My name is Jeremiah," he introduces himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. I've heard great things about you. Your costumes at the Opening Ceremonies..." He doesn't finish his sentence, just looks me up and down, like I'm a dish he wants to indulge himself in.

I suddenly feel nervous, because I'm being flirted with the knife-throwing instructor. I can hear the Careers' muffled laughter nearby.

Haymitch clears his throat. "Get to the point."

Jeremiah blinks. "Ah, yes, of course. Knives." His almost-black eyes glimmer. "Now, get a good grip on the handle."

I do as he says, with obedience. Haymitch copies my actions beside me.

"And now..." He leads me over to a couple of metres away from the target, where my knife will hopefully find a home. "Throw."

I thrust the knife into the air, watching carefully as it lands a little bit away from the bulls-eye. I sigh.

"Not bad for your first try," he comments. "Your turn, Haymitch."

Haymitch, who I've just remembered is good with a knife – like he told Brandon, hits the bulls-eye.

Brandon lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. But he's not the only one, because I glance over at the Careers, and find half of them glowering at Haymitch. With hatred, jealousy, anger. I'm suddenly terrified for my district partner, because if I know anything, it's that the Careers don't enjoy it when they're out-shined. And Haymitch has done just that.

"Do you have to be so perfect at everything?" I laugh.

"Everything?" Haymitch raises his eyebrows, amused.

"Well, yeah." I shrug. "First archery, and now..." I chew my lip, gazing over at the knife buried in the bulls-eye.

He rolls his eyes. "You overestimate me, sweetheart. Your turn."

"Jeremiah!" A girl – I think from 4 – calls. "I need your help!"

This seems strange, a Career actually needing an instructor's help, but I don't think too much of it. Jeremiah walks off, thankfully. That guy creeps me out.

"Go on," Haymitch encourages, as I pick up another knife – longer, this time – and shakily grip it in my hand.

"You can do it," he promises.

I exhale, and throw the knife with as much accuracy as I can manage. And it hits the bulls-eye.

"Oh, my..." I gasp, barely believing what I've just done.

"You did it, sweetheart." Haymitch grins at me. He leans over and whispers in my ear, "But they're not very happy with us."

I look over, to see the Careers staring at me, in exactly the same fashion as they did Haymitch. The boy from 2 is pretending to slice his own neck off, mouthing the words 'you're dead.'

I swallow back hard, wanting to break down and cry.

"Just ignore them," Haymitch tells me, glaring at the boy from 2.

* * *

Training passes without much more dramatic events, and the final whistle is blown, which means we've got to get back to our quarters for dinner.

"Let's go," Haymitch says.

We're over at the axe-throwing station, where we've learned neither of us have much of a knack for axes. Hell, I can barely lift one of those things.

"Okay." I lay down a heavy axe, waving my right hand about, because the axe is just so heavy and puts such a strain on my body. I wince in pain.

"What's wrong?" Haymitch wonders as we file out of the gymnasium.

"Just...my arm's a little sore," I tell him, flexing it a little. "From the axe, you know."

"I know a little something that could fix that," Haymitch replies.

"You do?" I ask. As far as I know, Haymitch has no experience in healing strained muscles. But it's not like I have any other options.

I spread out my arm. "Do it, then."

We stop in the middle of the slightly darkened hallway, just outside the elevator. Haymitch puts two hands on my arm, one on my wrist, the other on my shoulder. His touch makes me want to scream. In a good way. He pushes down hard on my wrist, and begins to rub a series of small circles up and down my arm.

And then, the pain's gone.

"How did you-" I gasp, at loss for words.

"Just a little trick my brother taught me." He grins proudly.

I smile. "T-Thank you."

"No problem," he says. We step into the elevator, push the button that reads '12' and zoom up to the very top of the Training Center.

* * *

At dinner, Brandon wants to know all about our first day of training. He goes to Astrid first.

"What did you learn, sweetie?" he asks through a mouthful of roast potatoes.

"I-I learned how to start a fire," she replies quietly. "I climbed a tree. I did an edible plants test, and I got eight out of ten right." She smiles at us, and we're all too kind to break it to her that she hasn't yet learned how to handle any sort of weapon.

But Brandon seems pleased. "Very good, Astrid. What about you, Trey?"

Trey shrugs. "Threw some spears. Chopped a few heads off dummies with an axe. And all of the things Astrid did."

Brandon nods. "Impressive." He turns to Haymitch and I, a smile playing on his lips. "And you two?"

It occurs to me that Brandon knows Haymitch and I are training together.

I glance at Haymitch. "Uh, we...threw some knives. Went to the axe-throwing station for a little bit. Some archery, too. But I sort of failed at it." I smile a little, remembering how Haymitch helped me.

"We're going to focus more on survival skills tomorrow," Haymitch adds.

"We are?" I whisper, because this is the first I've heard of it. Haymitch nods in confirmation.

"I see," Brandon says flatly. "And do you know that the Careers are very...how do I put it? Pissed off with you, shall we say."

My fingernails dig into my palm. "We know."

"Because?" Brandon prompts, waiting for an answer. But I'm sure he already knows.

"Because Haymitch threw some knives in front of them," I tell him quietly. "He hit the bulls-eye on his first try. So did I; but on my second."

"How do you know they're mad at us?" Haymitch demands.

"Because I've been having some chats with their mentors," Brandon explains. "And half the Careers want you both in their alliance."

I swear I almost faint right there and then.

"Well, tell them it's a no," I spit. "I'd rather slit my own throat than join those monsters."

"Agreed," Haymitch says, taking a small sip of water.

Brandon lets out a big, exasperated sigh. "Fine. I can see there's nothing I can do to change your minds. But I would like to let you know what a mistake you both are making. When they find out you don't want in with them, you'll be the first ones they target at the bloodbath. They can't risk having you both on the loose. Because they see you as threats."

I can't comprehend what Brandon is saying. _A threat?_ How are we possibly threats to the Careers? I've only just learned how to yield a weapon today, whereas they've been born and bred for this. Been swinging knives and axes around since they could toddle, I bet. It just doesn't make sense.

"We're not threats," I say suddenly. "Well, I'm not, anyway."

"You underestimate yourselves." Brandon smirks a little. "Those outfits you wore at the Opening Ceremonies? Haymitch had the women at his feet. And it was impossible to take your eyes off Maysilee. I'm sure Trey knows what I'm talking about."

Trey flushes a little, and makes a big show of studying the floral place mats.

"What I'm trying to get at is, you made impressions on the Capitol citizens," Brandon says. "Big ones. And I hear something going around about you two..."

I blink, not understanding what he's hinting at.

He raises his eyes to the heavens again and says one word, which explains it all. "Archery. What happened when Haymitch was...helping you, Maysilee. Things got a little intimate, according to the other tributes and their mentors."

I suddenly feel hot, and I just know my face is beet red. "Things weren't getting intimate, Brandon. He...he was just helping me. They're exaggerating."

"Whatever you say," Brandon chuckles. "Whatever you say."

* * *

**A/N: Any thoughts on this chapter? Leave them in a review! :)**


	7. Chapter 6: I Know, Sweetheart

**You're losing your memory now**

**You're losing your memory now**

* * *

The second day of training begins, and as usual, the Careers run to their maces and axes and swords like a mouse goes to cheese.

Haymitch and I smirk at each other a little, because today, we won't be concentrating on weapons. We'll be doing the sensible thing – learning how to start a fire, climb a tree. Survival skills that we never got the chance to learn, because the electrified fence beyond District 12 is off-limits.

"How about we tie some knots?" I suggest.

"Sure," Haymitch agrees, and we make our way to the knot-tying station.

The instructor is a mousy-haired young woman, who seems nice enough. First, she does a basic tying-your-shoelaces type of knot. Then, she moves onto a more complex knot, ideal for constructing a net out of, to trap prey. And finally, a noose.

"Ready to try it on your own?" She smiles at us.

We nod and she hands us three metre-long lines of rope. We copy her actions from before, and I'm pleased to see I've made a perfect replica of each knot.

"Very good, Maysilee!" The instructor says happily. She turns away from me to examine Haymitch's work, which is also spot-on. "Excellent work, Haymitch!" she compliments him, and I notice her voice turns more flirty, like when some of the girls at school talk to boys. "You have very clever hands."

"Thanks." Haymitch flashes her a winning smile, and the instructor's cheeks turn a little pink.

I fight back the sudden urge to slap her in her stupid face. What stops me is remembering that Haymitch is not mine to be protective of. But I can't help being horrendously jealous. So I just satisfy my emotions by glowering at the instructor for the remainder of the lesson.

Then, we're taught how to tie yet more knots. Ones we'll never use and ones that we'll surely need at some point for the rest of our very short lives.

Thankfully, after that, the lesson is over and we march away from the station, the instructor's eyes follow Haymitch as he walks away, I notice.

"So, what'd you think of knot-tying?" Haymitch asks.

I shrug, folding my arms. "It was okay, I guess." Actually, it was more than okay, because as it turned out, I excelled at it. One of the only things I was good at so far. But obviously, that's not the reason I was being so surly. "The instructor was annoying."

"Really?" Haymitch says. "I thought she was cute."

I whip around to face him, and see that he's fighting back laughter.

"You're laughing at me," I tell him flatly, clenching my fists.

"I'm not laughing at you, sweetheart." He grins at me.

I narrow my eyes. "You're impossible."

"And you're a jealous little thing," he counters, but I can tell by looking at his expression that he's joking.

I can feel my own cheeks turning bright red. "I'm not jealous! You don't even-"

"Oh, come _on_," he interrupts. "She was clearly flirting with me, and you looked like you wanted to rip her head off."

"Yes, well, she should've been concentrating on the demonstration, not trying to get into your pants," I spit.

He chuckles. "Let it go, sweetheart. Besides, I'll always prefer you." He grins a little, but before I can ask if he's joking or not, he struts off over to the tree-climbing station.

* * *

I am satisfied to see Haymitch has no talent whatsoever in the tree-climbing department. He's too tall, too muscular to navigate the nimblest of the fake wooden branches that decorate the artificial trees. I, however, am well able for it. I've always been slight for a merchant girl, so climbing trees is something that I can manage.

"You're good at this," Haymitch comments as I hop down from a low-lying branch. "For someone who's never been beyond the fence before."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Why? Have you ever been beyond the fence?"

He shakes his head.

I smirk a little. "Really? I would've thought a daredevil like you would've done that."

The side of his mouth raises a little. "Sweetheart, I'm a 'daredevil' – as you put it – not an idiot."

"Not much of a daredevil, then," I say. "Daredevils are up for anything, aren't they?"

"Well." He grins. "I guess I'm a daredevil in that respect, because-" He leans forward to whisper in my ear. "- I'm up for anything, sweetheart."

His breath tickles my cheek and I resist the urge to blush, although I'm probably beet red.

* * *

After lunch, we go to the fire-starting station. A duo of the girls from 6 are also there, along with the boy from 10 and the girl from 3. The instructor – a balding middle-aged man – warns us about starting fires in the arena. While a source of heat and protection from harsh weather, igniting a fire in the arena is basically sending off a signal to everyone in the area – "Come and get me! I'm ready to die now!" So he tells us to only light a fire if it's a life or death situation, and even then, make sure it remains small in size.

And on that happy note, he leads us over to a small artificial plot of land where we can stoke tiny fires. After rubbing two sticks together for what seems like hours, Haymitch sighs and takes them off of me.

After a little bit of attrition, a small fire breaks out over a pile of wood. Haymitch grins at me teasingly.

"Shut up," I mutter, a little bit jealous of his excellent fire-starting abilities.

"Aw, don't look so sad, sweetheart," he coos. "It's not like starting fires is that necessary. Besides, it's more likely to get you killed than save your life."

"No," I protest. "It'll warm me up. I mean, what if the arena uniforms are... I don't know, skimpy underwear or something?" It's ridiculous, but it's all I can think of.

He eyes me up a little before answering. "Well, if that's the case, I'll be looking to be your ally, sweetheart." He smiles slightly.

* * *

The last day of training consists of Haymitch and I heading back to the weaponry stations and practising our preferred weapons all over again. After more encouragement and teachings from both Haymitch and the instructor, I'm able to earn a rewarding bulls-eye with various types of knives. Haymitch, on the other hand, opts for both a knife and an axe, since he's pretty good with both.

I don't know how Trey and Astrid are getting along, but from the looks of things, they seem to be becoming relatively good friends. I've seen them from across the Training Center, going round to all the different stations. They seem to have a nice brother/sister relationship.

"So, what are you thinking of showing the Gamemakers?" I ask, watching carefully as Haymitch thrusts a hefty-looking axe into the stomach of a dummy.

He shrugs, then walks over and pulls the axe out of the dummy oh so casually, like this is something he does all the time. "This, I suppose." He gestures to the axe in his hand, which is coated in tufts of orange fluff from the dummy's insides. "You?"

"Probably some knife-throwing," I tell him. "I might climb a tree or two, if I have the time."

"What, you're not going to throw a few axes?" He says teasingly, waving one around in his hand.

I wince, remembering the minor injury I'd received as a result of yielding axes that were far too big for someone my size. "No, thanks. Not if you have to do that... massage thing again."

He grins. "Well, I certainly wouldn't mind doing that again, sweetheart."

* * *

At dinner that night, Brandon is eager to know what each of us will be doing during our private sessions. As always, he goes to Astrid first.

"I'm going to do some camouflage," she says confidently. "And light a few fires, because Trey says I'm good at that." She smiles at Trey happily.

"Good," Brandon says. "And you, Trey?"

"I'll throw some spears," he replies. "My aim's gotten better over the last few days."

"Maysilee?" Brandon moves on.

"Knife-throwing," I respond immediately. "And I'll climb some trees, too, I guess."

"Knife-throwing?" Brandon repeats, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "I thought you said you couldn't handle a weapon, Blondie."

"Well, Haymitch...helped me a little," I mumble.

"Right." Brandon nods and turns to Haymitch. "And you, boy?"

"Same as her," Haymitch answers flatly, pointing at me from across the table. "Knife-throwing."

"Hmm," Brandon muses for a moment. "Two people from the same district doing the same thing in their private sessions." His face suddenly lights up with a grin. "I guess we'll just have to see who's the best, right, boys and girls?"

"Haymitch," I reply instantly, while Haymitch says, "Maysilee."

I blush like an idiot.

* * *

The next morning I am roused by the sound of my bedroom door opening, and the clip-clopping of some very familiar high-heels.

"Marianna!" I gasp, pulling the blanket up around my body.

She's standing at the foot of my bed, lips pursed, hands on hips. "I told you to come down to breakfast ten minutes ago, Maysilee."

"Oh," I murmur, vaguely remembering her banging on the door, my waking up, and falling back asleep again. "Sorry, Marianna. I'll just - um - get dressed."

"You'd better," she says firmly, stalking out of the room.

In a short while, I am at the breakfast table, accompanied by my fellow district partners, Brandon and Marianna. We're all stuffing ourselves with delicious, filling Capitol food in an attempt to hide our awful nerves.

Because I am truly, truly nervous. What if I mess up and miss the bulls-eye? More than once? What if the Gamemakers think my knife-throwing skills are mediocre at best?

As I coat my fourth or fifth roll in jam, my hands begin to shake uncontrollably and the knife I'm holding clatters to the table. The others barely look up. But Haymitch, seeing the state I'm in, reaches out and pats my other hand under the table.

"It'll be okay, sweetheart," he reassures me quietly. But I can see his grey eyes are also full of apprehension.

When the clock strikes ten, Marianna walks us briskly down to the gymnasium. But this time, we are not allowed enter. We are told to wait outside until our names are called. Marianna wishes us good luck and leaves. The other tributes are relaxing on a long bench pressed against the wall, so we join them at the end of the bench.

"Don't be scared," Haymitch says, sitting down beside me. "Everything will be okay." I can see the determination in his eyes, but also a tiny glint of fear.

"Are you saying this for me or for you?" I laugh lightly, but my voice catches at the end.

He looks up at me. "Both, I guess." He's completely free from sarcastic comments today, which I'm sort of glad for. But at the same time, Haymitch wouldn't really be Haymitch if his personality was completely devoid of sarcasm.

Then, they call the first tribute. The girl from District 1. An invisible computer voice says, "Tatianna Breslin," and a blonde-haired girl rises from the bench, looking dauntless. Her fellow Careers encourage her, saying things like "Remember to use the bow, Tatianna" and "Behead every dummy!" The girl walks into the gymnasium.

"One down, forty-seven to go," Haymitch says.

The minutes pass by, and slowly, one by one, the tributes step into their private sessions. Some look terrified, others – like the Careers – look defiant. Haymitch and I are the first from 12 to go in, since we were the first boy and girl to be reaped from our district.

And then, unexpectedly, the computerized voice calls out, "Maysilee Donner."

My heart skips a beat or two. I rise, trying to keep as calm as I possibly can. I'm just taking my first few steps, when I hear a familiar voice behind me say "Hey."

I turn around, and Haymitch continues, "Good luck, sweetheart."

I smile at him, now truly feeling confident knowing that he believes in me. Trey and Astrid are giving each other meaningful looks, like they know Haymitch and I are more than friends. Or like each other as more than friends, anyway.

In the blink of an eye, I've reached the end of the long corridor. Taking a deep breath, I walk inside.

* * *

The gymnasium looks strange when it's not filled with dozens of tributes and instructors. Empty, somehow. In fact, the place_ is_ completely empty of people, other than myself, the Gamemakers, and a couple of attendants on hand, in case we want to demonstrate some hand-to-hand combat with a partner.

I walk a little further, and I can see the Gamemakers craning their necks to get a good look at me. I suddenly feel overwhelmed and somewhat intimidated by their drawn-out stares. What little impression I must make on them, an average-sized girl from District 12. But hopefully, that'll all change when they see my knife-throwing.

I step over to the vast selection of weapons on display. They're all laid out for me on various different shelves, not spread out like they were during training. I pull my eyes downward, and finally find what I'm looking for.

A shiny, sharp knife with a black blade. It looks exactly like the one I used during training. Maybe it is the very same one.

I pick the knife up and head over to a nearby target. I stand a few metres away from it, not too far away, not too close. I grip the knife tightly in my right hand.

Then, with all of the strength I can muster, I throw the knife right at the target. I stop myself from squealing out loud in delight when I see that it hits the bulls-eye.

The Gamemakers don't say anything, but I can see I've gotten their attention now. A purple-haired man whispers something to a plump woman, but I try not to get paranoid about what they could be saying.

I do this over and over again, thrusting knives into the targets. Out of the six times I throw knives, I hit the bulls-eye five times.

I glance at the clock on the wall and see I still have a couple of minutes left. I can sense the Gamemakers may be getting bored with my constant knife-throwing, so I run over to the tree-climbing station, where I begin to scale a tree.

After a while, I've reached the very tip-top of the tree. I balance there for a few seconds, before one of the Gamemakers – the Head Gamemaker, I presume – says, "You may go now, Miss Donner."

I quickly climb down from the tree and, when I've reached the bottom, bow respectfully to the Gamemakers, just like Marianna instructed.

Although the last thing I want to do is bow at the monstrous human beings before me.

* * *

After dinner – which consisted of an in-depth account of his spear-throwing skills, courtesy of Trey – Marianna leads us into the living room, where our scores will be broadcast.

"Now remember," Brandon says as we settle ourselves on the luxurious leather couch, "These scores are important. If sponsors are thinking about backing a certain tribute, the first thing they'll do is check out your training score. Hopefully, none of you screwed up too badly."

He grins at us a little cruelly. He opens his mouth to say more, but then the TV automatically switches on, and Caesar Flickerman is there – the ever present host of the Hunger Games – is on screen.

He says a few words about how pleased President Snow is with this years' tributes so far. Our skill, our courage, our determination. I tune out for most of that part, because I couldn't give a damn what the President thinks about the new, disposable crop of recruits brought in to die for his disgusting form of entertainment.

I come back into focus when Caesar begins to announce the scores. The Careers all earn scores of eight or up, which isn't much of a surprise. The majority of the other tributes earn around the four to six ratio, but a couple earn a little more than that.

However, I really begin to listen when Caesar moves onto the District 12 tributes.

"First up from District 12, the lovely Maysilee Donner," Caesar announces, then pauses for dramatic effect. "A score of... eight."

I gasp loudly, and the others congratulate me and pat me on the back. _An eight!_ I'm grinning from ear to ear like an idiot, but I don't care.

"Next is Haymitch Abernathy, with a rather impressive score of nine," Caesar continues.

A huge, triumphant scream is let out by Marianna, and we're all congratulating Haymitch on his excellent score.

Then, Caesar ends the show by revealing Astrid's score – a six - and Trey's score – a seven. He reminds everyone to tune in tomorrow night for the televised interviews, and the TV flickers off.

"You all did brilliantly," Brandon says proudly, and he sounds like he really is happy for us. "Congratulations." He turns to Haymitch. "Even you, boy."

"Now, off to bed everyone!" Marianna chirps. "It's been a lovely, eventful day, but tomorrow will be even more amazing, I promise!" She beams around at us. "You kids need your rest!"

Brandon, Marianna, Trey and Astrid head off to their quarters, leaving Haymitch and I alone on the couch together. The ceiling lights are switched off, so it's quite dark in the living room.

"You did great," I whisper to him. "Even Brandon was impressed."

"So did you," he says sincerely. Then, he's back to his heavily sarcastic self. "But you weren't as good as me, obviously."

I scoff, but I'm grinning. "Oh, I could _never _be as good as _you_, Haymitch," I taunt.

"Nope," he agrees with a wink.

"You nervous about tomorrow?" I ask. "The – the interviews, I mean."

Haymitch shakes his head. Nothing fazes this boy. "Nah. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? My pants fall down on national TV?"

I stifle back laughter. "I'd like to see that."

"So would a lot of people, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Like the knot-tying instructor..." He trails off suggestively.

"Oh, don't mention that woman!" I giggle. "She was just..." I shudder. "_Irritating_."

"Mm, so was that knife-throwing instructor," he says. "The one who was looking at you like... like you were a piece of meat or something." He rolls his eyes.

"We're such jealous people," I laugh.

"Only for each other," he adds.

I bite my lip, trying not to smile. "Yeah. Only...only for each other."

I look up, and it's only then that I realize how close we are. The couch is huge – it could probably seat a couple of dozen people. Yet we're all cozied up together. Our noses are almost touching.

Haymitch begins to lean in a little, not that there was much leaning in required in the first place. I close my eyes, and our lips have almost met when I pull away. I look away from him so that he can't see the tears in my eyes. I grip the side of the couch tightly.

"Haymitch, we can't," I whisper hoarsely.

"Why?" he mumbles back, but he knows the answer.

"You know why," I say. "We...we shouldn't even be _friends_. I mean, we're going to have to kill each other in a few days!"

I bury my head in my hands and begin to cry. I've held back tears for the past few days now, and suddenly they're all beginning to pour out in one big, ugly, unattractive mess.

I'm bawling so hard I don't even notice Haymitch is pulling me closer to him. His strong arms are around me, shielding me from the horrors of the world. I lean my head into his shoulder, my tears soaking his shirt, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Ssh," he murmurs. "Ssh, sweetheart, I've got you. I've got you." His voice is soothing, and eventually calms me down.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer, sitting up a little, but his arms are still wrapped around me. "I-I just..." I wipe my eyes, sniffling hard. I feel like the biggest baby in the world.

"I know, sweetheart," he says softly. "I know."

* * *

**A/N: You have no idea how painful that last bit was to write! :'( But I have a little question for you guys, and I'd really appreciate if you'd answer it, because I have to know your opinion on this, okay? Well, the question is: do you think I should make Maysilee and Haymitch have an alliance from the very beginning of the actual Games, or should I just stick to canon and have them meet up halfway through? Just leave your answer in a review, please, along with a little thought or two on this chapter? Thanks. :)**


	8. Chapter 7: Here and Now

**Where have you gone?**

**The beach is so cold in winter here**

* * *

Surprisingly, my body wakes itself up the next morning. I think it's because I've had horrible nightmares all night, full of the most awful scenarios. I watch Madeleine burn to death in a house fire and there's nothing I can do to help her because the white sleeves of the Peacekeeper uniforms are holding me back. I watch myself die by Haymitch's hand in the arena.

_Haymitch._ I sigh, his name echoing over and over again in my head as I roll out of bed and into the shower. As I smother my hair with various shampoos and conditioners, I replay our little scene last night in my head.

We were about to kiss. We were _going_ to kiss, and what did I do? I instantly recoiled and began to cry. I remember vaguely that we stayed, wrapped in each others arms till one in the morning, until Marianna barged in and sent us both off to bed.

But there's no point to it, is there? Haymitch and I liking each other this way. Because the cold reality of it all is that we'll have to kill each other. Maybe not as soon as we get to the arena, but eventually we'll be forced to fight to the death face-to-face. I dread the thought.

When I'm out of the shower, I let the fancy Capitol machines automatically dry my hair. Then, I pull on an ivy green tank top and black pants. I practically race down to the dining room, in fear of Marianna making an appearance and shouting at me. Again.

Like me, the others seem to be just waking up. They're stuffing their faces with food but practically everyone at the table looks exhausted, yawning and scratching their heads. I take my usual seat next to Haymitch.

Whilst I'm munching on a cereal bar, Brandon begins talking.

"Tonight is the televised interviews," he tells us slowly, like we're all small children who have yet to grasp this. "We want you to be the best you can be, so today, you'll each have four hours with Marianna for presentation, and four with me for content." He looks over at me and Haymitch."You two will be with me until lunch time, while you two-" He nods at Trey and Astrid. "-will be with Marianna. And then we'll switch. Everyone happy with that?"

We murmur assent through mouthfuls of food. Then, we're whisked from the dining room. Haymitch and I begin to follow wherever Brandon wants to coach us, and Marianna trots off in the opposite direction with Trey and Astrid in tow.

"This way," Brandon says, leading Haymitch and I into a pristine white room.

It's large, with a beautiful view of the Capitol. Morning is just breaking over the horizon, but I know that most Capitol citizens don't get up till noon. There are white leather chairs.

Haymitch and I sit there, staring blankly while Brandon examines us with his dark blue eyes, like he's pondering about what we should do in our interviews. His forehead is creased and his fingers start tapping a strange beat on his thigh. It's very distracting.

"Let's start with you, boy," Brandon begins after what seems like forever. He shifts his gaze to Haymitch and takes a deep breath. "So, I already have an angle worked out for you. I want you to play up the arrogant act."

Arrogance? Haymitch isn't overly-arrogant, but he isn't too modest, either. I figure Brandon didn't have to think too hard about an angle for my district partner.

Haymitch doesn't say anything. He stays quiet and observes Brandon, like he knows he's going to elaborate.

"You're going to be cocky," Brandon continues. "Like the fact that you're going to die in a few days doesn't faze you in any way whatsoever. Add some wittiness in there, too. Think you can do that, boy?"

"It's what I've been doing all my life," Haymitch sneers, but I can tell he's happy with his interview angle.

Brandon looks relieved. "Well, that was easy. Now onto you, Blondie." He turns to me.

I lean forward, eager but also rather frightened to find out what my mentor has to say. Because whatever he's come up with, I'm going to have to act that way in front of the entire country.

"I'll admit, it wasn't easy for me to think up an angle for you," he tells me. "Will you be innocent? Brutal? Funny?" He shakes his head. "No, you're none of those things. Maysilee, your angle is going to be _sexy_."

I want to laugh and cry and throttle Brandon all at the same time.

"No!" I blurt. I can feel my face turning red as I speak. "I...I mean, no! I'm not going to act like a whore on national television! Not in front of my family!"

Brandon rolls his eyes. "Blondie, it's a television show. The people want to see what the people want to see. And what they want to see is you strutting your pretty little self on top of that stage tonight. Am I clear?"

I grit my teeth. "No. Absolutely not. I understand that this is...this is all a television show, Brandon, but it's a television show where I'm going to lose my life! I mean, can't I at least retain a little dignity? What else have I got left to care about at this point?"

Brandon looks me in the eye, clenching his fists. Finally, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. We'll come up with a new angle for you, Blondie, if it means that much to you." He narrows his eyes. "What would you like your angle to be?"

I chew my lip. "Can't I just be myself? I mean, do I have to turn myself into this completely different person?"

"How about this," Brandon negotiates, "Your angle can be...nice. Cute, humble, good-hearted."

I nod my head. "Okay. That's all right, I guess."

Brandon sighs again. "Right."

After that, Brandon spends the next few hours quizzing us on questions that have come up in past tribute interviews. What's life like back home, what's impressed you most about the Capitol, everything. Haymitch and I answer each query according to our respective angles, but I pale in comparison to him. He's arrogant and witty and everything the Capitol wants out of a tribute. And what am I, exactly? A girly, silly little tribute from District 12. Haymitch will be the one who gets all the sponsors, I know it.

Then, lunch time comes and we stuff our faces with Capitol food. I try hard to ignore the fact that this will be one of the last few times I'll ever have a proper meal.

Haymitch leans over to me and whispers, "I don't know why you refused to play up the sexy thing."

I roll my eyes. "I don't want to degrade myself like that, thanks very much."

"Prude," Haymitch mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

I glare at him and his face softens slightly. "Sorry. Actually, I kind of respect you. For... not going along with it. I wouldn't have."

A smile creeps onto my lips. "Thank you, Haymitch."

He shrugs and goes back to eating.

After lunch, Marianna brings us into a room identical to the one we were in with Brandon. Except this time, there's a suit and a formal gown waiting for us.

"Um," I say stupidly, hoping she doesn't intend to put us into those things.

"Put them on, dears!" she trills, picking up the dress and the suit and thrusting them into our individual arms. She directs us into two small rooms to change.

When we're all dressed up, Marianna directs us how to act when in these sorts of clothes. Haymitch, apparently, has a tendency to slouch when sitting, so the first thing Marianna does is address that. I, however, cross my arms a lot. Marianna informs me matter-of-factly that, in the Capitol, crossing your arms means you don't want to engage in conversation. It's rude, she says. So, she slowly but surely eases me out of that habit.

It seems like days rather than hours have passed, but after, we're separated and brought to the Remake Center. I'm in the hands of my loud, obnoxious and frivolous prep team once again.

They spend two hours on both my hair and makeup respectively. It's torture, because I'm so nervous I'm finding it hard to block out their mindless gossip, something I did so easily before.

Unfortunately, both Bree and Accalia still harbour their little crushes on Haymitch.

"He's going to look gorgeous tonight!" Accalia squeals as she curls my hair with a strange, heated contraption.

"God, I'm practically swooning at the thought of him in a suit!" Bree giggles, adding a touch of blush to my already-rosy cheeks.

"You know, there's been some rumours going around between the two of you!" Accalia tells me.

"W-What?" I blink.

"Yes!" she continues happily. "A little birdie told me you and him were cuddling on the couch together last night!"

By 'little birdie,' she could only have meant Marianna. I clench my fists. I know that woman's a gossip – most Capitol people are – but who exactly has she told about Haymitch and I? My prep team will surely spread it around even more than Marianna has.

"Really?" I mutter flatly, trying to contain my anger. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Accalia."

"Oh, don't be silly, Maysilee!" Bree chirps. "This came from an actual eye-witness! In fact, I heard..."

I roll my eyes and tune them out, which I'm finding rather easy now, because I'm not nervous any more. Just overcome with anger.

When my prep team deem my hair and makeup flawless, Fabian arrives and kisses me on both cheeks in welcoming. I'm slightly apprehensive now, wondering about what my dress could be like. But unlike last time, Fabian doesn't allow me to see my outfit before I try it on. He simply makes me close my eyes, raise my arms up, step into a pair of high heels, and directs me towards the full-length mirror.

The only thing that registers in my mind is that I look beautiful. More beautiful than I've ever looked, or will ever look. The dress is a stunning baby blue number, strapless and bedazzled in all kinds of glittering jewels and shimmering crystals. It brushes the floor, thankfully. My hair is shiny, full of big, glamorous curls and God knows how many different sprays and shampoos. The colours of my eye makeup go perfectly with the gown.

"What do you think?" Fabian says quietly.

"Oh, Fabian," I breathe, so grateful that I can even speak, "Thank you...so much!" I suddenly turn around and hug him. He pats me on the shoulder.

"All the pleasure is mine, dear Maysilee." He smiles at me widely.

Soon enough, I'm leaning up against a concrete wall in the middle of a corridor. The other tributes are lined up in front of me, some pressed against the wall looking bored, others chatting animatedly amongst themselves. Right ahead of us is the door that leads onto the stage where our interviews will be taking place.

Trey and Astrid are standing behind me, but none of us feel like talking. Astrid's dressed in a cute pink frock, and Trey's been forced into a bright blue suit, his hair gelled back. And Haymitch still hasn't arrived.

Thankfully, though, Haymitch soon makes his big entrance, sauntering down the corridor towards me. He looks absolutely gorgeous in his tuxedo. His dark hair has been left natural, tousled and wavy. Just the way I like it.

"Hi," I whisper as he comes over, casually leaning his shoulder on the wall. I notice a couple of the female tributes giving him double takes and giggling, but I try hard to ignore them. "You look..." I'm struggling to find the right words, which is almost impossible. "Really nice."

"So do you, sweetheart." He grins, touching my chin with his thumb. "Actually, you look a little more than 'really nice,' but I don't think I have enough time to continue."

I roll my eyes, but I'm laughing. "Bet you say that to all the girls."

He smiles at me before the TV hanging on the walls flickers on. Caesar Flickerman's hair is dyed hot pink this year, complete with a matching suit. He calls the name of the first tribute, the girl from 1, and she struts onto the stage.

It's interesting, I think as the interviews progress, to see all the different angles the other tributes have chosen. The blonde girl from 1 is witty. The older boy from 2 is confident and loud. The boy from 4 is vicious. The girl from 6 is flirty. The boy from 9 tells crappy jokes.

It's when the final boy from 11's interview begins that I really begin to get an awful surge of stage fright. I resist the urge to bite my nails out of nerves, simply because I know Blaze would skin me alive for ruining his perfect manicure. But I'm terrified. What if I mess up? What if I trip over my own feet on the way to the stage? The ridiculous possibilities race through my mind like marathon runners.

Then Caesar calls my name. I swallow hard. Haymitch nudges me and whispers, "Good luck, sweetheart," in my ear. His words of comfort make me feel slightly better.

I walk down the hallway, out onto the stage. The bright lights almost blind me, and the cheering and clapping of the Capitol audience is deafening. I blink madly as Caesar beams at me, thinking that I really need some sunglasses right about now, as his teeth are unbelievably bright.

"Why, aren't you easy on the eyes!" Caesar hollers, taking me by the hand and leading me to my seat opposite him. I sit down, taking care not to cross my legs.

I smile, remembering to show my teeth. According to Marianna, I barely ever do that.

"Maysilee, you certainly made an impression upon us during the Opening Ceremonies!" Caesar says. "That costume!" He gives a low whistle. "I'm sure you'll be getting quite a few male sponsors, my dear."

I give a laugh, but I'm sure the Capitol audience don't realize it's a completely fake one, because they chortle along with me.

"But we don't want to hear about your costume, my dear, we want to hear about you!" Caesar continues. "So, tell me. What's life like back home?"

Internally, I want to scream at him and confess that I don't want these people to know anything about me. I don't want them to know my life, my family, my hopes, my dreams.

But I know that won't help me gain sponsors of any kind, so I reply, "Oh, life in 12 is very simple, Caesar. My parents are jewellers, you see. And I have a twin sister called Madeleine." My voice cracks at the end as I add, "She means the world to me. I...I love her more than anything."

The audience sighs sadly, but a couple are giving me encouraging shouts of sympathy.

Caesar pats my hand in comfort, and moves on. "What about your friends, Maysilee?" He turns to the audience and gives them a big wink. "Have a boyfriend?"

I hope my blush isn't too noticeable under all the makeup. I giggle. "No, Caesar. Sorry to disappoint!"

Caesar shakes his head, as if denying this, and shouts, "Beautiful girl like you? Not a chance! I bet the boys back home fall at your feet, begging for a date! Seriously, Maysilee, some boy _must_ have you on his arm."

I smile. "Well, I don't have a boyfriend, I'll admit that." My next words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. "But...I do like someone."

The audience 'oohs' and Caesar says, "I knew it! Spill, spill, who's the lucky fellow?"

I desperately want to go back in time and make everyone forget I ever said that stupid thing, but that's impossible. I have to finish what I started.

"Well, I'm not going to name any names," I continue, still smiling at the audience, like a blushing school girl. "But I've...had a crush on him since I was fifteen."

The audience sighs again, but this time, it's not out of sympathy. It's because they understand. They can relate to what I'm saying, which is good. It'll get me sponsors.

"And he's not from the same social class as I'm from," I say. "So I learned to ignore my feelings for him. I...blocked them out. But recently, they've been coming back."

Caesar smiles at me. "Maysilee, that is a _very _romantic story! So, what is it about this boy that made you fall for him? Why could you never let him go?"

I stop myself from pursing my lips in disgust. Brandon was right; it's all a big television show to these silly Capitol people. They want to know all they can about the tributes' lives. The last thing I want to do is blurt out my reasons for liking Haymitch to the Capitol, but what can I do?

But then, mercifully, the buzzer sounds, declaring my interview over.

The audience begins to boo and some of them shout, "More time! More time!" but Caesar eventually calms them down so that he can bid me goodbye.

"All the best of luck to you in the arena!" he shouts, taking my hand and lifting me out of my seat. He raises our joined hands to the sky and yells, "Maysilee Donner, tribute from District 12!"

I walk away, waving to the audience. When I'm backstage, an Avox directs me into a separate room, not the corridor I was in before. It's a medium-sized room, complete with a plasma screen TV and a black leather couch. Brandon and Marianna are there, lounging on the couch, sipping champagne from glasses.

They wave me over to the couch, and I sit uncomfortably in the middle of the two. Neither of them seem to be on the sober side. I watch anxiously as Haymitch's interview unfolds before me.

Caesar welcomes him graciously, and I can see Haymitch is brilliant at playing up the arrogant side of him, because he swaggers onto the stage with confidence, winking at the women.

"So, Haymitch," Caesar jumps right in, "What do you think about the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?"

"I don't think that'll make much difference," Haymitch replies. "They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual."

Caesar and the audience burst into laughter, and I can't help but chuckling a little, myself. Haymitch really is good at this.

After that, comes Astrid's interview. She's very sweet, which is all part of her angle, but I can tell she's not just pretending to appeal to potential sponsors. She's genuine.

Trey's interview is full of him cracking jokes. Good ones, not like the ones that came out of the boy from 9's mouth. The crowd loves him, but he doesn't have the same wit that Haymitch did.

The interviews are finished, then, with Caesar reminding Panem to tune in tomorrow for the very first day of the 2nd Quarter Quell. The plasma screen switches off automatically. Brandon and Marianna, who have indulged in yet more champagne as the interviews progressed, are now flat-out drunk. Their words are slurred, and they can barely stand up, so I call for two Avoxes to come and haul the pair off to their rooms.

I roll my eyes a little at my mentor and escorts lack of class – and to think, Marianna was lecturing me about manners! – and hurry off to my bedroom.

The first thing I do when I get there is wash off the layers of make up in the shower. I step out, slip into a light night gown, and crawl into bed. I pull the blankets up to my chin, snuggling my head into the pillow, but it takes me about five seconds to realize that I'll never fall asleep. And on the off chance that I do, I'll surely be tossing and turning all night, wondering about tomorrow.

I get out of bed and pull on a robe over my night gown. I stand up straight, surveying the darkened room. I step out into the hallway, shutting the door as discreetly as I can behind me. It's not as though it's illegal for me to be out of bed, but I'm sure the Capitol doesn't exactly enjoy the idea of tributes roaming the corridors the night before the Games.

I walk directly into the living room, which is just as quiet as my bedroom. I should find this constant silence eerie, but I don't. It is more of a comfort to me, however strange that may sound.

As I daringly progress a little further, I am shocked to see I am not the only one here.

On a slightly raised platform that overlooks the Capitol city streets, sits Haymitch. Weirdly, he hasn't noticed I'm also in the vicinity. He stares out the window, completely oblivious to my presence. That's how I know he's out of character. He's normally so alert.

I go over to him, and whisper, "Hey."

He startles a little, but his widened eyes calm once he sees it's only me. "Oh, hey."

"Guessing you couldn't sleep either, huh," I murmur, sitting down in a cross-legged position opposite him.

I gaze out at the night. The Capitol is so different at this time of the day. The city lights are blinding, twinkling amidst the darkness. I arch my neck so I have a clear view of the sky; no stars. I stop myself from sighing – yet another thing I hate about the Capitol. Back home, the stars are always visible. They are one of the few objects of beauty we have in 12. Taking a closer look, I see that there are people out in the street. Dancing. Laughing. Cheering. Drinking.

Of course. I almost forgot that the night before the Games is a big deal here. It is full of anticipation for what is to come. I turn away, disgusted at their excitement for tomorrow.

"Impossible," Haymitch mumbles back. I see that he, too, is glaring down at the Capitol citizens celebrating, with utmost disgust. "Are you scared?"

"Yes," I say. I can feel tears welling up at the back of my eyes. "I...I'm terrified. I mean, I could be dead by this time tomorrow!"

"You won't be," Haymitch assures me. I stare at him. He sounds so sure of this, so positively convinced that I will get through the first day. I can and will never understand his faith in me.

"That's bullshit," I scoff. "I wouldn't be surprised if I'm the first death at the bloodbath."

"No, Maysilee." He shakes his head. "You're strong. You'll make it. As for how far... well, that I couldn't tell you, but I guarantee that you will survive the first day, at least."

I bite my lip, knowing that whatever I say, Haymitch will counter, and we'll end up arguing. And as stupid as it sounds, I don't want to spend my last...normal night with him caught up in a petty argument.

"So," he says after a few moments, "What'd you think of my interview?" He seems like he genuinely wants to know, maybe because he's self-conscious? I shake that thought from my mind. Haymitch is confident.

"I liked it," I reply. "You were very... arrogant. Which is a compliment," I add hurriedly. "The crowd adored you."

"And what about your interview, sweetheart?" Out of nowhere, Haymitch's usual cockiness is back. I can hear it in his voice. He smirks at me.

"What about it?" My voice can barely be called a whisper. I can feel my heart beating twice as fast than usual, and I just know that he's aware I was talking about him in my interview. I feel like an idiot for thinking that he wouldn't bring it up.

"Well, I believe I recall you saying something about a crush..." He fixes his gaze firmly on me, and his expression is unusually soft, for just a fraction of a second. "Anyone in particular?"

"No," I choke out. I can feel a blush rising in my cheeks, and I'm praying that it's too dark for him to notice. "You...you wouldn't know him."

"Wouldn't I?" he says. He's enjoying this a little too much. "Then tell me about this guy. I want to know_ all_ about him." He smiles at me innocently, and I wonder how he can be acting this way when he will most likely come face-to-face with death tomorrow morning.

I close my eyes in exasperation and take a deep breath. "Haymitch," I say flatly, "Why are you torturing me into telling you my feelings for you?"

"Because it's more fun that way, sweetheart," he whispers, scooting over to sit beside me. He doesn't wrap his arm around me, or touch me in any way. Just looks me in the eye. "So, have you really had a crush on me since you were fifteen?"

I swallow. "Maybe."

He laughs quietly, but it quickly dies down. "But you... tried to push your feelings away?"

"I did," I admit. "I mean... I told Madeleine that I...that I liked you. But she teased me about it because you're from the Seam." I flush a little. "That doesn't matter to me, though." I meet his eyes. "At all. But I knew that despite that, it'd be impossible for me to have any kind of future with you. So I forced myself to stop liking you."

There's a long, drawn-out silence before he speaks again. When he does, his voice has all but lost its cocky edge. "But you still do?"

"Yes," I mumble. "I..." My next few words tumble out of my mouth so quickly I barely realize what I'm saying. "Ever...ever since we were reaped, my feelings have been coming back, Haymitch. And I...I can't stop them."

I can really feel the tears coming now, dripping down my cheeks, like raindrops. I gasp as Haymitch's hand cradles itself on my cheek, pulling me closer to him, so I have no choice but to stare directly into his grey eyes.

"Then don't," he whispers. I can feel his cool breath on my face. I gape at him like an idiot while he brushes the tears from my face with his thumb.

"I have to, Haymitch," I breathe. "I can't...w-we can't carry on like this, not when..." He knows what I'm about to say. That we can't ever truly be more than friends, because of our tragic circumstances.

"Ssh," he murmurs. "We still...we still have here. We still have now."

Before I can respond, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. The feel of his lips against mine is heavenly. I'd always imagined kissing him would be a rather rough thing to do – the things that come out of his mouth are so harsh and cold, I figured his kissing skills would be roughly the same. But his kissing me feels nothing like I thought it would.

He kisses me softly, tenderly, allowing me the chance to kiss him back before he goes any further. And so I do. He forces my mouth open with his tongue, as I do the same to him. We sit there for what seems like forever, our arms wrapped around each other. It's pure heaven, but I know it can only last for so long.

A low moan escapes the back of his throat, and his hands begin to travel further, all over my body. I gasp, and he pulls away instantly.

"Sorry," he mutters, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Kind of ruined the moment there, didn't I?"

I blush, because he mistook my gasp as a sign that I wanted him to stop. The truth was, I didn't. I wanted him to continue. So badly.

"It's okay," I whisper.

He takes his hands in mine, making little circles on my palm with his forefinger.

"Haymitch," I say. I feel my vision blur slightly, my eyes watering because of what we've just done. "What...what are we going to do?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," he mumbles, forcing a tight smile. "I...I don't know."

It's the first time Haymitch has never been sure of himself.

* * *

**A/N: Yay, they finally kissed! :) Thank you to all who answered the question I posed in that last A/N, I really appreciate it. I'm still slightly conflicted about whether or not they should form an alliance from the very beginning, but I think I've more or less made up my mind now. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)**


	9. Chapter 8: Allies

**And where have I gone?**

**I wake in Montauk with you here**

* * *

I'm roused by Fabian staring down at me, like some sort of madman. He's holding some basic cotton clothes, and orders me to put them on as quickly as possible. I know these aren't the clothes I am to wear in the arena. Final dressings of tributes are done in the catacombs underneath the arena.

When I am dressed and somewhat presentable, Fabian presses his palm against the small of my back and guides me to the rooftop. There, a large black hovercraft awaits. The seal of the Capitol is the first thing I notice, painted onto the side of the hovercraft.

I swallow hard, my knees threatening to buckle. Fabian whispers something to me, but through the blood roaring in my ears and the pounding in my head, I don't quite catch it.

He guides me toward the hovercraft, and with shaking legs, I step inside. A man in a white lab coat approaches me with a large syringe clenched in his hand. I'm not scared of needles, but this one is _huge._

I'm too breathless to even question what the man's about to do, but then he suddenly jabs the needle into my forearm. I feel a sharp pang of pain, but it's gone in an instant. I rub the spot where he inserted the needle with my thumb, as the hovercraft takes off.

"That's your tracker," Fabian informs me quietly.

I don't acknowledge what he said, which is probably rude of me, but I figure that since I'm going to die in a few short minutes, I'm exempt from manners.

And that's when it finally hits me.

_I am going to die today._

_I am going to die today._

_I am going to die today._

The words echo in my mind over and over again. I try to push them away, but they keep coming back, louder and more convincing than the last time. A woman hands me a bowl of cereal and a cup of mineral water, but I'm too sick and too scared to eat anything. When I try to pick the spoon up, it falls to my tray with a clatter. My hands shake. My head spins.

Feeling like I'm about to vomit, the hovercraft lands. Fabian leads me to the underground catacombs of the arena. It looks like the school locker room back home, except I'm not going to gym class today.

Fabian helps me dress in what I presume is my arena uniform, identical to the other tributes. I'm not really paying attention to what he's putting me in, though. The one thing I'm thinking of, the one thing that runs through my head, is that these are the clothes I will die in.

It's only when I'm given a gentle push over to the full-length mirror that I see myself. I'm dressed in tight black trousers, paired with a simple black tank top and a leather jacket that falls to my mid-thigh. My boots match my outfit.

I stare at my face in the mirror as Fabian begins to style my hair. Not out of vanity. I just simply cannot stop looking at myself. My face isn't pale like a frightened little child's. It's ashen grey, like I'm already dead. My eyes are cold and empty, and wide with fear, like prey before the slaughter.

Fabian steps away to examine my hair. It's been left down, naturally wavy, but one or two strands are done up in little plaits. Not that my appearance matters.

Nobody's going to care about the state of my hair when I'm lying in a pool of my own blood, now, are they?

"Almost forgot," he says, spinning me round to face him. He pulls my mockingjay pin out of his pocket. Wordlessly, he pins it to my jacket.

"Thank you," I mumble, realizing that those are the first words that have come out of my mouth today.

Fabian steers me over to what lies in the very centre of the room; the glass cylinder that will, in a few moments, rise and deliver me to death's doorstep.

A little way away from the cylinder, there's a long line of yellow tape on the floor that reads: "Only tributes permitted beyond this point!"

"Good luck, Maysilee," Fabian tells me. "Be brave."

He smiles at me slightly before stepping back, silently giving me my cue to walk away. I swallow hard, tighten my jaw, and walk as steadily as I can towards the cylinder.

Every step is agony, because it's one step closer to certain death.

Finally, I'm inside the glass cylinder, locked inside a cage that's impossible to escape from. The glass cylinder closes, immediately begins to rise, and I find myself a prisoner of darkness.

I hold my breath, not daring to breathe, for fear I might have a heart attack, or worse. I'm almost hoping I do, so that I don't have to face a brutal, violent death in the arena.

Yes, that is how I want to go, I think solemnly. Quietly. Inconspicuously. Peacefully.

But then, the more determined, fearless side of me roars that I'm being a coward. That I shouldn't be planning my death, because I am going to win. I am going to win.

Yeah. That's likely.

But all thoughts leave me as I lay my eyes on the arena. The Cornucopia is placed in the middle of a sweet-smelling meadow, full of colourful flowers and plants. There's not a cloud in the blue, blue sky. I turn my gaze, seeing that the meadow appears to stretch for miles and miles. Far in the distance, though, there are woods, and a snow-capped mountain.

But the smell is like nothing I've ever inhaled before. So sweet and thick and overwhelming. A butterfly swishes past my face in the blink of an eye.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to get too carried away. I have to focus. This isn't some pretty little meadow where we'll all have a nice picnic. No, this is where we will all die.

_We will all die._

I can sense the seconds ticking away. I have one minute on this pod, one measly little minute to decide what my game plan is. The most logical decision I can think of is to head for the woods. Far away from the Cornucopia. And I don't like the look of that mountain, either. For all I know it could be a volcano or something.

I look to the side, over to my fellow tributes. Haymitch stands a couple of tributes down from me, his eyes firmly fixed on the Cornucopia. I feel like a mountain of lead just dropped into my stomach, because I know that while Haymitch is bigger than me, he won't stand a chance at the bloodbath.

Not against monsters who've been training for this since they could walk.

I want to tell him to head for the woods, like me, to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible, but how can I do that? I will him to look at me. And finally, he does.

He stares at me, looking confused. As inconspicuously as I can manage, I jerk my head slightly to the left. A hopefully subtle gesture that he knows will mean he should head for the woods.

With me.

Haymitch and I never said anything out loud about being allies. But I think that, ever since we began training together, it was sort of a done deal. A mutual agreement.

I wait for him to respond to my little indication, but before he can, the gong rings out.

And all hell breaks loose.

I leap off my podium, and begin to run faster than I've ever run before. And I realize that it is not blood that runs through my veins, not anymore. No, nothing but fear fills every square inch of my body.

Not only do I want to stay away from the Cornucopia – for obvious reasons – but I also do not want to witness any bloodshed. I don't want to see anyone die right in front of me.

But like always, when you desire something, the opposite of that happens.

Right in front of me, I see one of the boys from 2 stab Astrid, plunging his knife deep into her stomach. He pulls the knife out, and wipes the blood off with his hand swiftly. Then, he turns to me.

I can't breathe. I can't think.

All I am aware of is that there is a thirteen year old girl dying on the ground before me. The boy grins, and raises his knife.

"Maysilee!" someone shouts.

I whip round, where Haymitch is standing with a knife, and a gun in hand. A gun? My mind boggled, he grabs my arm and we race toward the forest.

Even after we've left the bloodbath behind us, I can't stop turning my head behind me as we run. The boy from 2 doesn't pursue us, which I'm not surprised by. He clearly didn't see the point in chasing us when there's not only a heap of goodies at the Cornucopia, but also plenty more prey.

We don't stop running. Tears run down my face, because of what I've just seen, and the wind whips my hair, unravelling Fabian's intricate plaits. I want to collapse, and at one point, I do.

I fall to the ground, beneath a tree with almost-neon green leaves, curl up in a ball, and cry.

"Maysilee," Haymitch says quietly. I can hear his voice cracking. "We...we have to run. We have to keep running or they'll come after us."

"I saw Astrid die," I whisper to myself. He wasn't meant to hear, but somehow he does.

"I know," he murmurs. "But we have to keep going. We can't stop, Maysilee."

I nod slowly, biting my lip. Haymitch offers me his hand, and I cling onto it tightly. In that small touch, a whole surge of emotions rush through me. Strength. Happiness. Hope.

He pulls me up from the ground.

"We can walk, if you'd like," he tells me, brushing a stray tear away from my cheek. "You don't seem up to running, sweetheart."

"Thank you," I say. I'm genuinely grateful for his concern and understanding, but I feel like a weakling. Sobbing at my opponent's death. Nobody's going to want to sponsor me now. Now that I appear weak and vulnerable and naive. And as much as I think I don't stand a chance in these Games, I know that I am none of those things.

As we proceed through the forest, it feels more and more like we're simply taking a leisurely morning stroll. This place is beautifully picturesque.

"What you got there?" I ask, gesturing to the knife and gun in Haymitch's left hand. He's also got a pack swung around his shoulder, which I didn't notice before.

"A blow dart gun," he tells me, pointing to the gun, "A knife, and a pack."

"You made a little trip to the Cornucopia, then?" I say, trying to keep my voice light.

"Yes," he replies, shrugging. "No big deal." But I can see the pain in his eyes, and I can't help but wonder how many people he saw die today.

"You could've been killed," I mutter.

Haymitch laughs. "Sweetheart, we're in the _Hunger Games_. I'm constantly in danger of being killed."

"I just don't want anything to happen to you," I say without thinking. I feel my cheeks flushing slightly, and I turn to him, expecting him to laugh again or grin at me, like he used to.

But he does nothing of the sort. His face darkens, his jaw tightens. "You shouldn't be thinking that way, Maysilee," he says sharply.

"I know," I say, feeling pathetic. He's right – I shouldn't be worried for his safety. But I can't help it.

He doesn't respond, so I take to staring at the beauty around me. Nothing here is flawed. The very idea that this place could house a wilted flower, or a dying tree, is preposterous. The rich colours are overwhelming, the chirping birds are music to my ears.

After an hour or so, we reach a stream, the water azure blue. It's only then that I realize how thirsty I am – there's a dry patch on my tongue – and I want nothing more than to dump my face into the water. It just looks so...appetizing, which is ridiculous, because it's water. But...it's beautiful.

"Let's have a drink," I suggest, bending down onto my knees. I'm just about to dip my hand in, to cup some water in my hands to sip from, when Haymitch stops me.

"No," he says abruptly, his hand coming down onto my shoulder, squeezing it hard.

"Why?" I protest. "I'm parched, Haymitch. Aren't you?"

"Yes, but..." He trails off, appearing to have completely lost his train of thought. He gets down on his knees, like me, and examines the water. His eyes narrow. "It's poisonous."

"How can you tell?"

"The...the colour of the water," he says softly. "It's doesn't look...real. Fake."

"Haymitch," I scoff, _"Everything_ here is fake. The colour of everything here is just as bright and just as fake-looking as the water."

He meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see fear in them. "Exactly."

I swallow hard. "You mean...everything here is poisonous?"

"Yes," he mutters. "I've suspected it as soon as we landed in here."

I nod, taking it all in. If Haymitch is right – and I'd never admit it, but he usually is – that means the water here is undrinkable. The idea that I might not be able to drink basic water is terrifying.

"We can only drink the rain water, then," I mumble.

"Guess so," Haymitch agrees, looking up. Not a cloud in the sky.

I purse my lips, and straighten up. Haymitch is still crouched on the ground, glowering at the water.

"Come on," I whisper, gently nudging him with the toe of his boot. "We've gotta go."

Haymitch nods without looking at me, and gets up. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, then looks at me and smiles slightly. "Here." He carefully places the blow gun in my hands. "You have it."

I balance the gun between my hands. Thankfully, it's not too heavy. But just looking down and seeing that _I am holding a gun_ is enough to make me want to faint.

"H-How do you..." I feel utterly hopeless, and I'm starting to wonder why Haymitch wanted to be my ally in the first place.

"Shoot?" he finishes, grinning. The old Haymitch is back, I internally breathe a sigh of relief.

"Come here, sweetheart," he says, opening his arms slightly.

I smile and step closer to him. I'm reminded of our moment in training, when he taught me how to shoot a bow and arrow. And we would have kissed, if not for the gong that indicated lunch time. But there's no gong to interrupt us now.

He gently places my hands on the trigger, and then puts his own hands on top of mine.

"Grip it," he says quietly.

I clench the gun in my hands.

"Now pull the trigger," he whispers.

I do so as gently as I can, and a bullet flies through the air, making its home in a nearby tree dead ahead.

I spin round, smiling. "How do you know how to fire a gun?"

He shrugs. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, sweetheart."

I grin at him. "I've got an idea."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow teasingly.

Wordlessly, I walk over to the tree I shot just a few seconds ago. He follows me without my even needing to ask him to. I get down on my hands and knees and pull a bright yellow flower from underneath the tree.

He opens his mouth as if to stop me, surely because he thinks it could harm me, but I ignore him. Then, I squeeze the stem of the flower. From the very centre of the flower, a strange royal blue liquid oozes out.

Haymitch's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Maysilee, what are you-"

I turn to face him. "Just watch." I extract one of the many bullets from my gun, and dip it into the poison. I look back at him to see his reaction.

His mouth is open wide. He smiles at me. "You're a genius, sweetheart."

I laugh, stand up, and take a little bow. "So I've been told."

"Do you think the others are aware of the fact that everything here is poisonous?" Haymitch asks.

"Well, if they're as stupid as you said they were last night," I chuckle, "I doubt it."

"Guess so." He grins at me, then picks his pack off of the ground. "Should we see what's in this thing?"

I nod, and we sit cross-legged on the ground. I'm thankful that Haymitch managed to grab a pack from the Cornucopia, despite my upset at his recklessness. A knife and a blow gun won't exactly help us in terms of survival. The pack is black, which is good, because it'll blend in with the darkness when night comes around.

He opens up the pack, and pours the contents onto the ground. There's an empty two-litre bottle of water, one sleeping bag, a medical kit, and a small loaf of bread that looks suspiciously stale.

"Well," I say after a little while, "It's not much, but we shouldn't complain, right?"

" 'Not much'?" Haymitch scoffs. "Sweetheart, I risked my damn life to get this thing."

I roll my eyes, but one look at his face tells me he's joking. But then suddenly, something finally dawns on me, which makes me freeze.

"One sleeping bag," Haymitch says, reading my mind. He winks at me. "You know what that means, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Oh, shut up," I mutter, desperately wanting to avoid this conversation for as long as is humanely possible. Which is...tonight, I guess. I make a feeble attempt at changing the subject. "Uh, so, we should probably move on now, right? No sense in staying in the same place."

"Right you are." Haymitch nods and we set off into the forest once more.

The scenery shifts, but everything is roughly the same here – bright colours, beautiful but deadly flowers and plants, water that's unbelievably tempting to drink.

After a couple of hours, I feel a wave of hunger infecting my body. My stomach rumbles so loudly it could wake the dead. Unfortunately, Haymitch notices, because he turns and grins at me. My face feels hot.

Attractive.

"Here, sweetheart," he says, pulling a slice of bread out of his pack. He hands it to me, and I chew it almost violently. It tastes nice, although there's a hint of staleness to it. But I'm in no place to be picky.

"You should have some, too," I tell him as I finish off the slice of bread.

"No." He shakes his head, then smiles at me almost sadly. "I'm used to being hungry, right?"

A pang of guilt washes over me. Of course he's used to being hungry – he's from the Seam. It hadn't yet entered my stupid head that, whilst my stomach was utterly hollow, Haymitch was nowhere near peckish. Yet another way we are different.

I don't quite know how to respond to that, so I stay silent. And even if I did, what would I say? 'I'm sorry'? No, there's no use in apologizing for the fact that Haymitch has been starving his whole life. It wouldn't make anything better. It might even seem insincere, because it came from a "townie," as the Seam kids call us.

"Maysilee," Haymitch says abruptly. "Did you hear me?"

"Huh?" I reply stupidly, snapping out of my thoughts.

"I said, do you want to make camp here?" he repeats as patiently as he can manage.

I observe the surrounding area. It's full of trees, which is good in the sense that it will help conceal us from predators.

I nod. "Sure."

I look up, seeing that the sky is slowly but surely darkening. The prospect of sleeping in the middle of a forest doesn't scare me, for some reason.

Then, the anthem starts, and the faces of the fallen tributes light up the night sky. Two from 3. Three from 5. Two from 6. Three from 7. One from 8. Two from 9. Three from 10. One from 11. One from 12. The anthem ends, the seal of Panem replaces the faces of today's dead children, and the sky goes black.

Eighteen dead.

I turn away, surprised to see that our only sleeping bag is already laid out on the ground. Our pack sits beside it, as does my blow gun and Haymitch's knife.

"So," says Haymitch, who is kneeling beside the sleeping bag, staring up at me expectantly. "How are we going to organise this whole... sleeping arrangement?"

"Uh," I say stupidly. My next words come out so quickly that even I can barely understand what I'm saying. "Well, we shouldn't sleep up in the trees because er, sure, I can climb trees, but you can't and-"

"Maysilee-"

"And it wouldn't be very practical of just one of us to sleep up in the tree, would it?" I continue, "Because then one of us would be on the ground, without a sleeping bag, with no protection and-"

"Maysilee," Haymitch says flatly, and this time, I stop. He places both hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. "We don't have to...sleep in the same sleeping bag if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Haymitch, it's not that I don't want to," I whisper, praying that the cameras don't catch my words. "It's just...I've never been in that kind of...situation before." My cheeks are incredibly red, I just know it.

"It's okay," he assures me quietly. "I mean, I'm not going to, y'know-" he winks, "-try anything."

I laugh nervously. "Okay." I awkwardly gesture to the sleeping bag. "Do you want to uh, get in first?"

"Sure," he says calmly, zipping the sleeping bag open and climbing in.

I get down on my knees, take a deep breath, and slip inside the sleeping bag as gracefully as I can, which isn't very. The sleeping bag is rather large, so at first, we lie on the opposite sides. I bite my lip and rest my head down, turning my eyes away from him.

Suddenly, his body shifts itself over to me. My blood runs cold, and I'm not sure if it's out of fear or excitement. I scold the tiny part of me that's afraid. Haymitch would never intentionally hurt me.

"Maysilee," he murmurs. "Are you okay... with this?"

"More than okay," I whisper without thinking. Because despite the fact that I'm slightly worried as I've never had a boy so close to me before, I'm also...excited? I can't explain the flurry of emotions running through me.

Haymitch wraps his arms around my waist, and I can feel my face flushing. A swarm of butterflies flutter around my stomach. The feel of Haymitch's arms around me is everything I ever dreamed it would be. Safe. Warm. Protective.

Loving.

My lips part slightly, as I feel Haymitch's cool breath in my ear. It sends lovely shivers down my spine. I reach down to my waist, where his hands are, and place my hands on his. I stroke his hands with my thumb.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Haymitch mumbles.

I turn my head round to face him, feeling like a heap of bricks have dropped down on me. "You don't want to?" All the conflicting, mess of emotions I've felt as his hands locked me in their firm grasp, and it turns out he doesn't like it as much as I do?

"No, it's not that," he replies softly. "It's just... what will your parents think?"

I freeze. My parents. My sister, my _family _are watching me cuddle up to a boy – a boy from the Seam, no less – on live television.

"Doesn't it embarrass you?" he whispers. "That they're seeing this?"

"No." I shake my head. I don't want to admit it, but I probably won't be seeing my family again. So it won't be awkward next time I see them. Which is an event that will never happen.

I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, because it's the first time I've thought about my family since I've landed in the arena. I don't want to think about them. Too painful.

I turn around in the sleeping bag to face Haymitch, because a foolish part of me believes that his face is the only thing that'll stop me from crying. Because he strengthens me. Makes me a better person, somehow.

His hands are forced to let go of my waist, and instead we reposition ourselves. Like before, he puts his arms around my waist, sending tingles through my body. I place my hands around his waist, too, in a spur of the moment sort of thing.

I can feel his body shudder in delight. I smile, though it makes me blush, knowing that I have that kind of effect on him. Our faces are so close, but I'm not in the mood for kissing tonight. I don't think he is, either.

All we do, until we fall asleep, is look into each other's eyes and feel safe. Warm and protected. My last thought before my mind shifts into unconsciousness, is that when we're wrapped in each other's arms, we can almost forget the horrors we've witnessed today.

And that, to me, is love.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave your thoughts in a little review, maybe? :)**


	10. Chapter 9: Trust Me

**Remember the day**

**'Cause this is what dreams should always be**

* * *

Haymitch is gently shaking me awake the next morning, at dawn. I've noticed my body shifted a little during the night – my head is lying on Haymitch's chest, my hand locked in a tight fist around his waist.

I jerk awake, pulling away from him.

" 'Morning, sweetheart." He smirks at me. "Sleep well? You certainly seemed to enjoy last night, anyway."

"So did you," I mutter, pointing at the slight bulge in his trousers. Despite my remark, I'm blushing furiously.

I look up at him through tangled strands of hair, expecting him to be embarrassed. But he only throws back his head, guffawing. "Thank you for noticing, sweetheart." He's quick to change the subject, though. "So, what's for breakfast?"

"Er, some bread, I guess," I reply, shrugging as I pull out the loaf of bread from our pack. I pass him two slices of bread, and give myself an equal amount. We dig in immediately, since we're both starving.

"What happens when this bread runs out?" Haymitch wonders absent-mindedly, picking crumbs off his trousers.

"Guess we try to hunt for food," I answer through a mouthful of bread. I swallow loudly. "There's also sponsors."

"Sponsors?" Haymitch repeats slowly, as if tasting the word, like it's foreign to him. "You really think we have any?"

"Well," I sigh, _"You_ do."

"Aw, come on." He grins, nudging me with his elbow. _"You_ really made an impression on those Capitol men. Remember that sexy Opening Ceremonies outfit?"

I groan, burying my head in my hands. "God, don't remind me. Please." I raise my head, hair swishing behind me. "I could say the same thing about you, you know. All those women were falling at your feet."

"Maybe." He shakes his head, looking me in the eye. "But only one of those women matter."

I look down, sure that my cheeks are turning rosy pink. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't exactly 'falling at your feet,' if I remember correctly."

He scoffs_. "Please_, I was talking about Marianna."

I chuckle. "Obviously. How silly of me."

He gives me a small smile before moving on. "So, what's the plan for-"

But he's interrupted by the boom of the cannon in the distance. Actually, it doesn't sound so far away, which makes me flinch nervously.

"Wonder who that was," he mumbles.

I don't want to know.

"Think we should move out?" I suggest.

He nods assent, and we pack up our few belongings. We silently head east, without even needing to discuss what direction to take. Our instincts tell us which way is best, and I can only hope that they are right.

Unfortunately, they are not. A couple of hours later, we're only metres away from the mountain that dominates all other life forms in the arena. It's unbelievably huge – I have to crane my neck to get a good look at it.

"Haymitch," I whisper, "Should we be here?"

He shakes his head, transfixed by the mountain. He meets my eyes. "Let's go on up. See what we can find."

"What?" I gasp. "We can't!"

"Why not?" he demands, confused.

I stare up at the mountain again, a sickening feeling slowly developing in the very pit of my stomach. "I've just got a bad feeling about it, Haymitch. I...I can't explain it."

Haymitch purses his lips. "Trust me?" He looks at me with those gorgeous grey Seam eyes pleadingly. It's as if he knows I have a weakness for them.

I sigh, biting my lip. "I trust you."

He grins and holds out his hand to me. I take it reluctantly, closing my fingers over his, smiling slightly. And together, we hike up the mountain.

* * *

It's funny, isn't it, how easily the human mind can be convinced into doing something, all because of the beauty or the compulsion of their friend/love interest?

That's the excuse I use for Haymitch getting us into this mess.

We're almost halfway up the mountain now, the hot sun beating down on our faces. Sweat pours down my cheeks, my arms, everywhere. I strip off my jacket, tie it round my waist, and watch as Haymitch does the same.

"Water," he heaves, scratching the back of his neck, "Need...water..."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, because that's the only kind of sound my vocal chords can muster. My throat is dry, my tongue a barren desert, completely devoid of moisture.

My head is pounding, and has been ever since I woke up – I merely failed to notice. I can barely think, because the pounding is so fierce, so violent, that I can't do anything but suffer from it.

The only clear thought I can form is that I must be dehydrating. And if I – we – don't get water soon, the hopes of District 12 having a victor will surely rest on Trey's shoulders.

"Maysilee," Haymitch croaks, pulling me back as I attempt to take one agonizing step further. There's very little trees up this high, but somehow, he manages to conceal us behind one.

"What?" I hiss.

He doesn't reply. I see his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he points off to the distance. I look in that vague direction, and my heart almost stops at the sight.

_We've walked right into the Careers base camp._

They're all there, all the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. Excluding one of the older boys from 4, who may have been the one who died this morning, or simply chosen to leave the Careers.

Some of them are scarily huge, others unremarkably small, but the one thing they all have in common, is that infamous sneer plastered upon their faces. Most of them brandish weapons, swinging them around like they're children's play toys, laughing.

There's six tents set up around the remnants of a camp fire, along with most of the valuable supplies I caught brief glimpses of at the Cornucopia.

I turn back to Haymitch, and open my mouth, whether to scream, cry, or say something logical, I don't know. He covers my mouth with his hand. His face is determined. Defiant, almost. But the genuine terror in his stormy-grey eyes cannot be ignored. Not that I blame him for being scared.

Any of those monsters – even the smaller ones – could kill me with a mere twist of my neck.

I clasp my hand around Haymitch's wrist and gently tug his hand away from my face. "What do we do?" I whisper, my voice shaky.

Once again, he doesn't respond. I feel him breathing heavily beside me, so different from last night, and the cool air he exhaled in my ear.

Finally, though, he gives me an indication that he has not suddenly gone mute.

"Do you trust me?" he says, so quietly that I have to strain to hear.

"Of course," I breathe.

He cups my cheek in his hand, pulling me close. His left hand runs itself through my hair, and I can see his eyes are firmly focused on my face, as if he's trying to memorize it. Permanently etch my image in his mind.

Then, he kisses me on the cheek, takes my hand, and we scamper down the mountain.

I can hear the Careers' footsteps behind me. They're just metres away, chasing us, screaming in delight because they've finally found someone to kill.

My heart rises up into my throat as they grow closer, but I don't dare look back. I don't want them to see that I'm terrified of them. I don't want to give them the satisfaction.

I scream as someone throws a spear in Haymitch's direction. He doesn't see it coming, but his head swiftly dodges the spear's sharp end.

I want to vomit, seeing how close he came to death, but I manage to keep running. A small part of me knows they won't kill us from a distance. I know from past Games that the Careers like to kill up close and personal.

We reach the end of the mountain, panting and sweating even more than before. I watch with wide eyes as the Careers form a circle around us. They've got us surrounded, all ten of them.

Some of them smirk at us, clutching their weapons, licking their lips greedily. A couple are hooting appreciatively, congratulating each other, like they've already killed us.

Haymitch keeps a firm grip on my hand, and I squeeze his hand so hard that I'm sure I must be cutting off the circulation to it. But it doesn't matter, because we're both going to die.

I only hope it'll be quick, for my family's sake. But these are the Careers, and they don't_ do_ fast, painless deaths. They draw your death out, torture you. They give the audience a show.

"Well, well," one of the girls from 1 begins, stepping toward us, "You must have death wishes, huh, 12?"

She glowers at Haymitch and I in turn. I don't break down and cry. I don't show any kind of emotion. I stare her down, because if I'm going to go down, I want to go down bravely.

"Who do you think you are, anyway, strutting into our base camp?" A boy from 4 growls. He's got a hooked nose and eyes so dark they look almost black.

"Suicidal maniacs, that's what they are!" a girl from 2 cackles.

"Shut up," Haymitch snarls. I can't stop myself from letting out a little gasp. I knew Haymitch had nerve, but I never thought he was this gutsy.

"What did you say to me?" the girl snarls, her green eyes dangerously darkening.

"I said," Haymitch repeats, "Shut. Up." He smirks. "Geez, I knew you lot from 2 weren't the brightest bunch, but..."

One of the boys from 2 – the one who stabbed Astrid, who clearly wanted to kill me – grabs Haymitch by the scruff of his collar, forcing his hand free from mine, pulling him away from me.

"No!" I screech, lunging forward, but a short blonde boy from 1 shoves me up against a tree. He presses a knife to my throat, holding me back.

"Please!" I whimper. "Please don't hurt him."

"Why do you care what we do to him, 12?" the boy from 2 demands gruffly. He's pointing a sword to Haymitch's chest with one hand, the other clutching his collar.

My voice falters, but I manage to get out, "Because he's my ally."

The boy laughs. "He seems like a lot more than just your 'ally,' honey."

I flush stupidly and the Careers laugh amongst themselves. One of them says, "Good one, Zach," which I presume is the boy's name.

"Don't call me 'honey,' " I growl.

_"Ooh,_ I'm so scared!" Zach rolls his eyes. "What, is your little boyfriend only allowed to call you that?" He comes a little closer, and I feel sick as he starts to stroke my cheek, in the very same spot that Haymitch did not a few minutes ago.

"Get your hands off her!" Haymitch shouts, running up from behind Zach. He grabs his shoulders and shoves him to the ground. He then appears to go completely mad; repeatedly punching Zach in the face.

The other Careers pin Haymitch to the ground. One keeps their boot firmly pressed down upon his wrist, restricting his movements. Another does the same, only to his other arm.

I gasp and run forward, but the others are too preoccupied with Haymitch to even notice that I've escaped their clutches. They form a circle of tall, muscular bodies around him that I have no chance of breaking.

Tears running down my cheeks, I pull out my blow dart gun and shoot as many of them as I can under a matter of seconds. I watch as the poisonous blue liquid from the darts splatter across their backs, and they fall to the ground.

Thankfully, the pair of girls who had my district partner pinned to the ground with their boots have fallen, too. I rush forward and grab Haymitch, pulling him upward with as much strength as I can. And so we set off running into the forest again.

As we scramble away, I notice Haymitch's entire body weight is leaning on my shoulder. He's weak. And I can see that his eyes are drooping, which immediately sets alarm bells ringing in my head.

When I decide we're far enough away from the Careers, I prop him up against a nearby tree. He's unconscious, and the left side of his face is smothered in scarlet blood.

Fresh tears threaten to spill over in my eyes, because the prospect of losing him is just so unbearable. But I manage to hold myself together, remembering that _he's not dead he's not dead he's not dead._

Because there's been no cannon.

Taking deep breaths, I pull the first aid kit out from our pack. It's ivy green, with a white cross on the front. I open it, and begin to rummage through the resources I have at hand, praying that there's something in there that will help Haymitch.

Pills, cream, medical scissors, plastic tweezers, a thermometer, antiseptic wipes, and..._bandages!_

I sigh in relief, and begin to clean Haymitch's wound with a clump of antiseptic wipes. As I carefully wash away the blood, I begin to get a clearer view of the wound.

It stretches from the top of his ear down to his jaw, and the cut is rather deep, but not so much that it's life-threatening. With that in mind, I begin to calm down a little.

After I'm satisfied that it's more or less clean, I begin to coat his wound in bandages. I stop myself from using up the entire roll of gauze bandages, since I know we will need to keep cleaning and reapplying yet more bandages to his wound over the next couple of days.

And then, I'm finished. I straighten Haymitch up against the tree, because since I've began my attempt to nurse him back to health, his body has began to slump.

I purse my lips, deciding what I should do. I could carry him and move him to a safer place, but that's pretty much out of the question. Although Haymitch is from the Seam, he's stands tall and strong –much too big a load for me to carry.

I look around me, scanning the surrounding area for a suitable place to hide him. Then, I see it.

Directly across from me, lies a tree with a hollow opening at the base of the trunk. It looks big enough for perhaps one or two people to stay in, and it's inconspicuous.

I guess that's my best bet.

So I grasp my hands under Haymitch's armpits, and tug him over to the tree. It's not the best way to handle an injured, unconscious person, but what other options do I have?

Finally, I've got Haymitch lying face-up beside the tree. I'm breathing heavily, due to the weight of carrying Haymitch, and the sweltering sun. I wipe away a trickle of sweat running down my cheek, and haul him inside the hollow of the tree.

I rest him down on the pine-needle infested ground, set our pack next to his head, and shove my gun into my back pocket.

And now all I can do is wait for Haymitch to regain consciousness.

I gaze down at him, taking in his sleeping form. He looks so young, so innocent; not at all like the cocky seventeen year old boy I know him to be. I brush a loose strand of hair away from his forehead.

I decide that I should probably start concealing the entrance to the tree. I'm reluctant to leave Haymitch so vulnerable, but I promise myself I won't go too far.

I step outside – or crawl outside, more like – and begin to search for some wood, mud, anything that will cover up the fact that I've got an unconscious Haymitch hidden in a tree hollow.

* * *

About an hour later, the entrance to our tree is perfectly camouflaged. I've managed to conceal the entrance with countless layers of tree bark, leaves, and mud from the riverbank not far from here. It's brilliant. And I can easily slip in through a small opening at the side.

I'm just stepping back to admire my work, when a pristine white parachute floats right by me. It hovers away, and I race over, stretch my hands high, and catch it.

I smile so wide it must look more like a grimace, but I don't care. I actually received a gift from a sponsor! _We _actually received a gift from a sponsor!

With eager hands, I unfold the white cloth and inside lies a portable water purifier. It's a small, black container with a thin transparent pump attached to it. It must be a very advanced kind, as most purifiers can remove only dirt and filth from water.

It's priceless.

"Thank you, Brandon," I say as loud as I dare. And I truly am appreciative beyond belief. Thanks to this miraculous contraption, we can drink the water here without desperately waiting for rain to come.

I slip inside the hollow, and I sigh disappointedly, seeing that Haymitch is still unconscious. I'm looking forward to him waking up – because although he's only been dead to the world for a few hours, I'm starved for human contact. More specifically, contact with him.

I shove the water purifier inside our pack, burying it deep down at the bottom, because I'm suddenly terrified of losing it. The likelihood of us getting any rain is small, so this purifier might be our only chance at survival.

I hear the anthem beginning to play outside, so I rush to the opening of our tree. Through the cracks, I can just make out the seal of Panem high in the sky. The faces of a girl from 1, a boy from 1, a girl from 2, a boy from 4, and a boy from 6 appear, and the sky goes black again.

My breath catches in my mouth as I realize that I killed the girls from 1 and 2, along with the boys from 1 and 4.

_I guess that makes me a murderer._

I turn away, only to find Haymitch stirring awake. He's wiping his eyes and attempting to sit up, but he's undeniably weak.

"Haymitch!" I gasp, rushing over to him. I help him into a sitting position, one hand on the small of his back to support him. "Are you okay?"

" 'Course," he mumbles drowsily. "Never better." His hand goes to the left side of his face. "You..."

I manage a smile. "I fixed you up."

He blinks, touching the bandages. "You...you did?" His mouth slowly stretches into a smile. "Thanks, sweetheart. W-What happened? How did we..."

"Escape?" I finish. He nods. "I...I shot some of them. Not all of them. And we ran off, but then you passed out. And uh, here we are."

He grins. "You saved me?"

I blush a little. "I guess so. You are the damsel in distress and all."

"Hey!" he protests, elbowing me playfully. His face takes on a serious expression, and he takes in his surroundings. "So, this place is _nice..."_

I sigh. "It was all I could find, on a short notice. I camouflaged the outside, though, so hopefully nobody will be able to tell we're in here."

He nods again. "Thank you, by the way. For saving me."

I smile. "Well, you saved me. I had to pay you back, didn't I? You are my ally, after all."

"According to that idiot from 2, I'm 'a lot more than that,' " he murmurs.

"Haymitch," I whisper, a wave of guilt coming over me, "Let's...let's not talk about that. Not right now."

He picks at his cuticles. "I don't want to talk about that, either, sweetheart." His voice lowers, and he leans in so close I can feel his breath on my face. "In fact, I don't want to talk at all."

Haymitch's lips collide against mine, and my stomach suddenly turns into a butterfly mosh pit. This time, I'm the one who deepens the kiss, and he allows my tongue to press open his mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck, and one of his hands go to the curve of my waist, whilst the other wanders downward.

He plays with the end of my shirt, fingering it for a moment. Then, his hand goes inside, up to my defined hipbone. As I'm kissed almost violently, he strokes my hipbone. I shudder at his touch, his cold, cold hands. A moan that doesn't sound like it came from my mouth escapes me.

_"Haymitch,"_ I groan.

But then, he clearly desires to touch more of me than I'm comfortable with, because his hands travel further up the inside of my shirt, up to my chest.

I break the kiss.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Got a bit carried away."

I'm shocked to see that he's blushing, which is probably the first time I've ever seen Haymitch Abernathy's cheeks redden out of embarrassment.

"You think?" I smile at him.

"No, I-I'm really sorry, Maysilee," he continues hurriedly. "I mean, that was...stupid of me. I shouldn't have tried to go further than..." He sighs. "Than what was appropriate."

"No," I whisper, touching his cheek with the tips of my fingers. "I liked it. I did. It's just...not right now."

He nods in understanding. "It's okay."

He stays quiet after that, and I can't shake the feeling that he's...disappointed in me, somehow.

"Have you ever?" I blurt out without thinking.

Haymitch looks at me. "Have I ever what?"

I pinch my lips together, wondering why I bothered to say anything at all. "You know..." I swallow. _"It."_

"You know, the word _'sex'_ isn't taboo here, sweetheart." He grins.

I hold back laughter. "Well, have you?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. "It was a mistake." A crease forms between his eyebrows. "I just... I wanted it to mean something, you know? I always did. But it didn't."

Nobody says anything for a moment, but then he whispers, "Have you?"

I feel a blush creeping onto my cheeks. "No. I mean, Madeleine has, but she was always a lot more..." I search for the right word. "Outgoing than I am. More confident. _Prettier."_

It's the first time I've ever admitted this to anyone, how jealous I really am of my sister. I can feel her careful eyes on me, all the way from District 12.

"I mean," I continue, "She's got her sights set on the mayor's son. She's going to make our parents proud, bring... honour to our family." I meet his eyes. "And look at me. I'm going to die any day now, and I...I like you."

"And they're disgusted with me," Haymitch mumbles. "I get it."

"No!" I gasp, moving closer. I wrap my arms around him. "Haymitch, if there's one thing I couldn't care less about, it's...our differences. I don't care that you're from the Seam, Haymitch. I don't."

He looks at me for a moment, his eyes penetrating mine. I'm about to turn away, when he unwraps my hand from his arm. He takes me by the wrist and lines our hands up together. It's the first time I've really noticed our contrast in terms of skin colour, tan against pale.

"Look at you," he whispers, so softly I can barely hear. His fingers run along my hand. "So...soft and pale and-" He grins at me. "-blonde."

"And look at _you,"_ I tease, chuckling. "Tanned and black-haired. So different..."

"Different?" He raises his eyebrows. "Different how?"

"Because all those merchant boys," I say, "They were all the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Good-mannered. But you..." I smile at him gently. "You were unique. You looked different, and you acted different." I laugh quietly, remembering the fights Haymitch was famous for getting into at the back of the school. "I mean, sure, you were rough and boisterous and loud...but that's what drew me to you in the first place."

"I thought you were pretty," he admits. "But I never thought for one second that we'd..."

"End up together?" I murmur.

"Yeah," he says, sighing. He looks at me with sad eyes. "And we never will be. Not properly."

I bite my lip. "Well, we still have now, don't we? We can...t-try to make it last."

He smiles at me ruefully. "Come here, sweetheart."

He climbs into the sleeping bag, and I crawl in after him. I curl up next to him, wrapping my arm around his chest. He pulls me in close to him.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Oh, and by the way, I was bored as hell, so I made a playlist for this story, the link to which you can find on my profile, if you want to listen to it. ;)**


	11. Chapter 10: Kiss My Neck

**I just want to stay**

**I just want to keep this dream in me**

* * *

Unsurprisingly, I'm the first one up in the morning. Haymitch is sprawled out in the sleeping bag, one arm lying above his head, the other carelessly wrapped around my waist. I can't help but smile.

Gently, I peel his arm off of me and climb out of the sleeping bag, stretching and yawning. I peek outside the tree hollow, letting the morning light shine through slightly, but not so much that our whereabouts will be revealed to all in the vicinity.

I watch as a colourful bird waddles past our tree, its feathers splattered in a muddle of greens and blues and reds. I want to eat it so badly – I know that I could shoot it with my gun. But it's poisonous. Which is a fact that my mind finds difficult to comprehend.

_How could something so beautiful be so deadly?_

I bite my lip and force myself to look away, knowing that if I continue to stare at the bird, I'll eventually give in to temptation and kill it.

"Maysilee."

I freeze for a second, but then I relax, realizing that Haymitch has probably just woken up. But out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he is not awake. His back slowly contracts and retracts, and his heavy breathing is hard to ignore.

He's sleeping.

"Maysilee," he murmurs again.

He's sleeping and he's..._saying my name?_

That realization creeps up on me, and I can feel myself blushing. I cover my mouth with my hand as my lips stretch into a smile. I hope the cameras can't pick it up, but I'm sure that we're live on every screen in Panem.

I spend the next few minutes just watching Haymitch sleep. Again, I am struck by his innocent appearance. His own mouth is slightly parted, and his hands have clenched themselves into fists.

_Could he be dreaming about me?_

I brush that thought off. Why would Haymitch possibly be dreaming about me? The idea is so lovely, but also very unlikely.

_Then again,_ a voice tells me, _he did whisper your name in his sleep. _

Suddenly, a loud yawn breaks the silence of the tree hollow. Now, it seems, Haymitch really has woken up. He's repeatedly smacking his lips together, the way Madeleine does when she gets up in the morning. The thought of my sister makes my chest ache.

"Morning, beautiful," he says tiredly.

"Morning yourself," I reply, that stupid smile coming across my face all over again.

"What are you so happy about?" he wonders, running a hand through his hair. "Not that I'm complaining or anything."

I give my shoulders a small shrug, refusing to let my grin falter. "Nothing. Here, I'll do your bandages."

He nods, and I scoot closer to him, shifting into a kneeling position. I rummage through our pack for a moment, then pull out the roll of bandages and antiseptic wipes.

"This might hurt a little," I whisper. He doesn't react to my words, so I go ahead and remove the dirty bandages from the side of his face with one swift movement, making him wince slightly.

I then sweep an antiseptic wipe across his wound - which looks a little better than it did last night - and pick up the roll of gauze bandages. I cut some of it off using my teeth, ignoring the scissors that we have at our disposal, and finish off by reapplying fresh bandages.

I tilt my head to examine my work, and it's only then that I realize that Haymitch's eyes have been firmly fixated on me whilst I was working on him. His expression is softer than usual.

"What?" I say quietly.

"You're cute when you...do that," he mumbles. "Your eyebrows pull together, and your face looks all...concentrated. I like it."

I chuckle, ducking my head so he can't see my pink cheeks. I wonder if I should mention that I heard him say my name in his sleep. But that would only embarrass him. Then again, how many times has he embarrassed me and not cared about the consequences?

"I heard you say my name," I say suddenly. "In your sleep."

I watch him carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction out of him. But he only grins at me rather cockily. Unfortunately, Haymitch's kind words and sensitivity is something short-lived. Although I think that's what makes me like them more.

"Really?"

"Yes," I say. "Really."

"Bet you got a kick out of that, sweetheart," he whispers in my ear.

"I didn't, actually," I lie smoothly. "Didn't care in the slightest."

"Really?" he repeats, amused.

"Mhm."

"I can see that smile, sweetheart," he laughs, his fingers coming to the corners of my mouth, turning up the smile that's already begun to form there.

"All right, all right!" I giggle. He crosses his arms, looking satisfied. "I did care. In fact, it was...nice. _Cute_."

"Don't mock me." He narrows his eyes playfully.

I smile, nudging his elbow. "Come on. We've gotta eat."

"Whatever you say, Miss Donner," he replies.

I roll my eyes and pull out the small packet of bread, handing two slices to him, and keeping two more for myself. However, as I chew, I begin to realize that the bread won't last forever. It'll run out, and then what will we do? Nothing here in the arena is edible, so we'll be forced to rely on nothing but sponsors for food. If we even have any more.

"What're you so worried about?" Haymitch says, snapping me out of my own thoughts. He's just finishing off the last of his bread, whereas I, on the other hand, have only had a couple of bites of my first slice. I internally chide myself for making my fretting look so obvious.

"Nothing." I shake my head, and tentatively nibble on the bread's dry crust. But then, I sigh, because I know that I won't be able to hide my worries from him for very long, and I might as well tell him now. "It's just... what are we going to do when this bread runs out?" I chew my lip. "I mean, it's our only food source."

He thinks about this for a moment, then opens his mouth. "Then, we'll just get food off our sponsors."

"Sponsors?" I repeat sadly. "Do you think we even have any, Haymitch? Besides the one who gave us this bread."

"Sure we do," he says immediately, and I don't doubt for one second that he truly believes it. That's the thing about Haymitch, the thing I like so much about him. He's always so sure of himself, so confident in his own way.

"I mean," he continues, "We're still alive, aren't we? We've both survived an attack on the Careers. Not to mention, you killed four of them with that gun of yours." He smiles crookedly.

"That last part makes me want to be sick," I whisper, my voice small and broken, like I am. "I killed someone, Haymitch. I'm a murderer." I can feel tears well up in my eyes, and I blink over and over again in an attempt to eradicate them. "I don't care that they were monsters. They were people, and I killed them without a second thought."

"Hey, hey, sweetheart," he says softly, coming closer to me. He wraps his arms around my body and I bury my face in his chest, although I refuse to let my few tears show. "It's okay. Look, when you killed them, you were acting in self-defence. They were going to kill us. Just... try to focus on that, okay?"

"Okay," I reply, my voice muffled by the thin fabric of his shirt. I reluctantly pull away, reaching into our pack, and pulling out the water purifier. I need something, anything to distract me from the heaving agony in my chest.

"What's that?" he asks, confused.

"It's a water purifier," I tell him, and I am surprised by the sound of voice – so hoarse and empty. "We got it from a sponsor last night while you were unconscious. Guess I forgot to mention it."

A smile spreads across Haymitch's face, and I can see how truly delighted he is. "That's great, Maysilee. That means we have sponsors. We just have to keep going, and maybe we'll get more."

"Yeah," I say. "Maybe."

We don't bother moving on and making camp elsewhere, as, despite his protests, Haymitch is clearly wounded, and he needs to rest. So I insist that he let me take care of him.

"I swear I'm all right!" he insists for what must be the millionth time, as I force him onto the sleeping bag. "Honestly, Maysilee, I don't-"

"Shut up," I say, clamping a hand over his mouth. Then, I remove it, leaning in and firmly pressing my lips against his.

He's the first to make the kiss more passionate, sitting up slightly and wrapping his arms around my waist, as my hands go to his neck. We might have sat there for minutes, or hours, maybe even days, because when I kiss him, it's like the time or the place don't even _matter._

I break away, though, because my lungs are gasping for air.

"Well, let's just say I won't object any further." Haymitch grins at me.

I smile. "You are a weak, weak man."

"Only when it comes to you, sweetheart," he adds.

"So," I laugh quietly, "What are we going to do? Seeing as you're wounded and everything."

"Let's...talk," he says, taking my hand in his. "Tell me about yourself, Maysilee. I mean, all I really know about you is that you're hot, blonde, and a townie."

"I'm not a townie!" I snap, genuinely hurt.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "Just a habit. So, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" I wonder. "I'm not that interesting."

"Yes you are," he disagrees, stroking my cheek with his cold hands, making me shiver. "Okay, tell me... about the other guys you've gone out with."

I laugh. "You want to know about my ex's? You really are a strange character, Haymitch. Most guys would avoid that conversation with their..." I trail off awkwardly, because I really don't know what I am to Haymitch, or what he is to me.

"Yes, I do," he says, smirking. "To see what competition I have."

"Please." I snort. "Okay, fine. My ex's... Well, I only have a couple, really. You know that guy, Albert Henning? Tall, blonde?"

"He's a dick," he comments flatly.

"You don't even know him!" I fight back the urge to giggle. "But yeah, I used to date him. Dumped me after a month or two."

"Doesn't sound like a nice guy," he says.

I nod. "And uh, there was Timothy Hardbeck. After him came Ashton Menate. Then, Evan Turnsock. And those are my past boyfriends."

"Going to add me to that list, sweetheart?" he mutters.

"W-What?" I ask nervously, shaking my head. "Don't be silly, Haymitch. I can hardly consider you my..." But then I meet his eyes, his grey, grey eyes, and lose my train of thought. I continue in a lower voice, "Well, I _want_ to. But there's no room for relationships here."

He nods, but doesn't address what I've just said. "So, am I a better kisser than they were?"

"Maybe," I laugh. "Okay, yes, you are better." I tighten my grasp on his hand, linking my fingers in with his, stroking them tenderly. "Much, _much _better." I glance at his smiling face. "I didn't really like any of them, you know. My mother set me up with them. Because they were _'suitable potential husbands'_ for me." I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "But I didn't want them. Not in that way. I wanted..." I feel my face turning beet red. "Well, I wanted _you_."

"Can't say I blame you." He smirks.

I roll my eyes. "But enough about me. I want to know about you. What's your life like?"

"You want to hear all about my ex's, sweetheart?" he teases.

"No!" I shake my head. "But what's life in the Seam like? I've never been there. The way my friends make it out to be, though, you'd think it was hell on earth or something."

"In a way, it is," Haymitch says gruffly. "People die every day there. There's always a body being carted out of a neighbour's house, or off the streets." His tone of voice turns bitter, and there's a harsh edge to it that I can't ignore. "We live in absolute poverty, but...there is some beauty in the Seam. The Hob, for instance. Or the meadow nearby."

"The Hob?" I repeat. "Isn't that the illegal black market?"

I'd heard stories about the Hob, from my friends. Merchant's kids often dared each other to go in there, when it was open. Some were frightened of it, some treated it like any other part of District 12. But it was always a place of mystery, for me.

"Yeah." He nods. "My mother took me there once or twice, when I was a kid. Ever since, I've gone there almost every day with my friends. Not to trade, but just to... forget. Forget about the horrible things that are happening right outside the doors of the Hob." He smiles at me. "Maybe I can take you there, when we get out of here."

I know that that is impossible, because neither of us will be leaving this arena alive, least of all together. But listening to Haymitch talk about a place with such happiness fills me with unexplainable joy, so I whisper, "Yes. I'd like that." I swallow. "What about your family?"

"My family," he muses. "My father died when I was seven. So all I've got is my mother, and my younger brother, Laser."

"I didn't know you had a brother," I gasp.

"I do." He nods. "He's a little idiot, but I love him, really." His voice cracks at the end, and I squeeze his hand in comfort, because I know how it feels, to miss your sibling this much.

"It's okay." I force a smile on my face. "You'll see him again."

"Doubt it," he mutters. "With this thing?" He points to the layers of bandages on the side of his face. "I'll be dead by morning."

"Don't say that!" I exclaim. "You won't be _'dead by morning,'_ Haymitch. I'm your nurse, remember? You're not dying while I'm still around. I won't have it."

"Your stubbornness is sexy, sweetheart," he whispers, grinning. "And you're my nurse, are you?"

"That's right." I nod curtly.

"Interesting," he says quietly. "Got any nice nurses' outfit up your sleeve, no?"

I laugh, hitting his arm playfully. "Shut up."

Suddenly, a cannon goes off outside, making me jump. Haymitch only blinks a few times in surprise, not very fazed.

"Maybe that was one of those Careers," he says. "Hopefully that _creep_ who touched you." He makes a disgusted face, scrunching up his nose.

"Hopefully," I mutter, but the other part of me hates the fact that more of us are dying every day. Despite that it's getting us closer to the end of the Games, the fact that there are children getting murdered all around me makes me feel ill. And what makes bile threaten to rise up in my throat is the reminder that I killed some of them.

Haymitch's moan of pain is what jolts me out of my reverie.

"Haymitch," I gasp, "What's wrong? What happened?"

His hand goes to the side of his head, where the bandages are located. He grits his teeth, and the pain seems to subside, because he says, "Just...some slight agony, that's all." He puts on a small smile, but I can see that it hurt him.

I purse my lips in worry. "Haymitch, do you need any medicine? More bandages? Anything...?"

He shakes his head, grinning widely. "I should get hurt more often, if it makes you fuss over me like this, sweetheart."

A smile tugs on the corner of my mouth. "It amazes me, how you can joke around like this, when for...for all I know you could be on death's door." I bite my lip, the possibility of Haymitch's death hitting me like a ton of bricks. _It hurts. It hurts so much._ "And you shouldn't get hurt more often, by the way." I lie down, and snuggle up to him, pressing my body close to his. "You shouldn't get hurt ever again." I kiss him on the neck, because from where I'm lying, that's as high as I can reach. I kiss his neck for the second time. "_Ever again_."

A soft groan leaves his mouth. "I love it when you kiss me on the neck, sweetheart."

I giggle rather foolishly, because Haymitch saying such_ intimate_ things like this _still _makes my stomach do crazy flips. "Kiss me on the neck," I say without thinking.

He grins, white teeth gleaming, and gently pulls my body upward by my armpits. He tilts his head slightly, and plants a kiss on my neck. It sounds silly, but him kissing me anywhere other than my lips has such a different effect on me. His simple touches send electric currents racing through my veins.

Again and again, he kisses my neck, sometimes just under my chin, other times at the very hollow of my throat.

"Haymitch," I gasp, because his name is the only thing I think of. _He_ is the only thing I think of.

His grip on my waist tightens, and once more, he kisses the hollow of my throat.

"_Haymitch_," I say again, but he doesn't reply.

And then, he does something I really did not expect. His tongue flicks around my neck, like a snake. But no, nothing like a snake. Because he's soft, and gentle, and everything his personality is not. He continues to lick and kiss me all over my neck, and I can't stand it any longer.

"Oh, _God_, Haymitch," I breathe, "I...I..."

"You're beautiful," he mutters, out of nowhere. Between heavenly kisses, he continues, "Not sexy. Not cute. _Beautiful_. Your words, your actions, you are _whole_ and nothing but beautiful."

"Haymitch," I whisper, as he does it again - kisses me and licks me in such a tender way, "_Oh..."_

The sound of the cannon in the distance makes him break away.

"That ruined the moment," he mutters.

"Thank you," I say softly, cupping his face in my hands. "Thank you. Thank you." It's all I can say, all I can think.

"Such a wide vocabulary, sweetheart." He grins.

I chuckle. "We-we should eat something. It's dinner time."

"Bread again?" he says, as I hand him a few slices.

I elbow him in the ribs and we stuff ourselves with food. I'm starving. Actually, that's all I've been ever since I entered the arena. Starving, and completely overcome with hunger pains. But I don't say anything about it out loud, as Haymitch probably isn't very hungry. Because I was raised with a lifetime guarantee that there would always be food on the table, whereas he was forced to go days without food.

We spend the next few hours kissing, and talking, and laughing at childish jokes.

But soon enough, the anthem begins, which we both know can only mean we must see the daily death toll. We crawl over to the tree hollow's entrance, like toddlers, and look on, waiting for the faces in the sky to appear. And they do.

The girl from 10, who can't be more than fourteen. And Trey.

In an instant, the sky goes black again.

"He's dead," I murmur. It's not like Trey and I were good friends. We barely spoke. But still, I _knew _him, and we were neighbours. Which makes his death all the more hard-hitting.

"Yeah." Haymitch furiously chews the inside of his cheek. He turns to me, trying hard to smile. "Guess it's down to us now, sweetheart. To bring glory home to 12."

"Like that'll happen," I mutter.

"Come on," he says, wrapping his arms around me. "Let's go to bed."

I nod wordlessly, and let him lead me over to the sleeping bag. He lets me climb in first, and he follows close behind.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading! This chapter didn't really have much action in it, just Maysilee and Haymitch being all adorable and whatnot, but nevertheless, I hope you guys enjoyed it. And don't worry, the next chapter will have some action in it, I promise. :)**


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